The Game of Wicked Lies
by Reckless 0ne
Summary: Percy Jackson's no stranger to pain. In fact, that's all his life has been since his parents died years ago. But he knows he's more than just pain: the tides bend to his will, the water shakes in fear… He's a warrior, but in Panem — being different can be deadly. AU "When people don't conform to the usual stereotypes…that means that they're dangerous. They can't be controlled."—PJ
1. Part I: Chapter 1

**I've always wanted to do a Percy Jackson/Hunger Games crossover, so I'm finally doing it!**

**Don't worry, I'm still going to update my Percy Jackson/Harry Potter crossover, just maybe a little slower.**

**Hope you like it, R&amp;R. :D**

**Part I: Urchin**

**Chapter 1**

I close my eyes, staring at the everchanging colors beneath my eyelids, red, blue, green, yellow. I always think of it like a kaleidoscope, you can never see the same color or pattern twice. It is the same in snowflakes, even humans…

Except me, to most people, I'm the one small exception. To small to think about much, but large enough that there are whispers behind my back. Most people think I'm an odd ball, to never to amount to much.

If I don't get up now, I'll be in trouble. I groan; Ms. Matilda, the caretaker of the orphanage, would be livid if I woke up late. She doesn't like me, reminding me every morning that I have no future. She doesn't really care for any of us children, just the ones that might be able to contribute to our society.

Our society is simple, there's the Capitol, which controls everything, then twelve outlying districts, each one known for certain things. Our district, 12, is known for coal mining, in particular, under-paid coal mining.

I live in the seam, the part of District 12 with the roughest, work worn people. In the morning I can see masses of exhausted miners going to work through the attic vent, where I sleep.

"Johnson, get up now!" That would be Ms. Matilda calling up the stairs to me.

My real name is Percy Jackson, but ever since I came to the orphanage, she's insisted it's Peter Johnson. I'm pretty sure she's just too lazy to learn my real name.

I get dressed in some standard patched up cargo pants and a white Tee stained gray with coal dust; I pull on my warm hunting boots.

Taking the stairs down two at a time I jump the last four, it's kind of what we four older kids used to do to annoy our caretaker. A younger boy mimicked us once, and ended up having to have stitches — not that Ms. Matilda would pay for them. We ended up having to carry him to Mrs. Everdeen's, the best healer in my personal opinion. Ever since then, I'm the only one that participates in the peeve.

When I get to the bottom the old, rickety table that we only use for reaping day is out. I kick myself internally, how could I have forgotten today was the Reaping Ceremony? I'm glad I won't have to change, though, I only own two pairs of clothes, these being my better pair.

On the table is the best breakfast we see all year, even surpassing holidays. That being said, it still isn't much, just a little cold, watered down, porridge mixed with oatmeal and raw katniss tubers. While the capitol would probably laugh at me, I look at it like a feast, as if I'm a ravishing wolf to have just taken down a mouth-watering prey.

I sit down at the end of the table being the oldest, though staring at Ms. Matilda's face is enough to wish that privilege denied.

As seats start filling up around me with kids from ages three to sixteen, I can't help silently laughing at the irony of it all. While most of them see it as a present on this special day, I see how it really is. It's a hope that Mrs. Matilda will never have to see two of us again; she's trying to fatten us up for the slaughter.

Then Adaya, my twelve-year old sister, comes in the front door. While she wipes her shoes on the 'go away' mat, all my previous thoughts of the Hunger Games evaporate like the Mist. In contrast to my semi seamish look, she has light brown hair, aqua marine coloured eyes, and pale skin. While I don't know who our parents were, they must've been from a district other than 12 with our looks. That thought leads me deeper to so many more silent questions that I almost miss Adaya's.

"Good morning and Happy Hunger Games, how are you?" she says nervously, knowing that it really isn't really a 'happy' day.

But I smile at her, "Happy Hunger Games AA," calling her by her nickname, "it's a beautiful morning," I say in response.

She grins at me, "Do you like my dress?" she asks, twirling around.

Why she's wearing her Reaping clothes right now I have no idea, but smiling, I tell her that the patched-up lavender dress that in my opinion looks like puke is beautiful. Which it is, on her, but by itself it'd look absolutely dreadful. It was actually a gift from her best friend, Primrose Everdeen, the second daughter of the healer. Prim smuggled it out of the house unbeknownst to her mother, giving it to Adaya last night.

"Go sit down now AA, you don't want Mange Matilda after you," she giggles and hugs me.

Matilda comes in and I slowly start eating, trying to savor it all, enjoying the fact that I'm full for at least one day of the year.

Then it ends too quickly, kids are getting up to go make themselves useful, trying to earn money to sustain this place. As for me, I follow Mrs. Matilda to the back room as I do every day.

"Peter, I need some squirrels, and maybe a deer, dinner needs to be a nice."

"Yes Ms. Matilda." This is how it's always been, Matilda gives me a list of game to hunt and plants to gather, and if I can't complete it, she tells the peacekeepers so that they'd have to do something. They usually turn a blind-eye, even buying from me if I have extra. That way, I can store up money for when Matilda kicks me out of the orphanage, it has to be coming any day now.

"Be back by twelve thirty," she adds as I'm walking out.

"Got it," she doesn't really need to tell me that, we both know the punishment for missing a reaping is imprisonment. Even though my current life is only a small step up from jail, I much prefer it to living with other criminals.

Walking out, I grab my light but well made brown leather jacket, one of the only two pieces of my father I have left. It smells good, like a warm summer day, but I take it hard that the scent of my father's not on it. It hasn't been there, not for eight years, but I still check it every morning, desperate for something that hasn't been ripped away.

I step out of the orphanage, wondering if todays a good day to die.

* * *

I stand poised, as unmoving as the deer. We humans are the ultimate predators and I'm not about to miss this easy shot.

I draw back, line the dark marks up, and with a _shinnk_ I release the arrow. The arrow flies true, unaffected by the wind, passing clean through both lungs. I get up to claim my prize and retrieve my arrow, proud that I have mastered at least this skill. I used to be pretty dreadful, but after practicing five or six years, it kind of comes without saying. I rub my bow; it's a gray blue color with little waves engravings. My father who was a jack-of-all-trades made it. I treasure it more than all of my possession together, it has never failed me, almost as if there's some sort of magic on it, which for me is believable. When I was little I told people that the fish talked to me, they looked around to make sure no one overheard and then whisper screamed at me to never speak that aloud again.

I don't do that anymore, I've learned to keep quite and keep my face emotionless; it isn't worth the pain. The fish still talk to me, but I rarely respond, just like I rarely talk to any adults, letting my 'I don't want to talk' vibe do all the talking for me. I'm pretty sure they'd burn me on a stake if I told them the water bended to my will as well. I don't really understand the phenomenon myself; it doesn't seem to have affected Adaya.

I push though more under brush, stopping near a maple tree.

"And may the odds —," I hear a male voice coming north from my direction. It startles me and I almost drop the deer I've been lugging for the past half mile.

I go forward and see two people on a rock ledge overhanging a valley I travel across often; their backs are to me. Laying down the doe I get closer till I'm pressing my face to the bush leaves.

I see a girl, she catches a berry in her mouth that the guy must've thrown, she smiles, "—be _ever_ in your favor!" she finishes with equal verve.

I want to laugh; the alternative is to be scared out of your wits. I wonder why two people have snuck past the never working electric fence into the woods. Romantic reasons, I guess? I sit back on my haunches and watch them through the berry bushes they think cover them, glad that my standard brown wear blends in with my surroundings.

They're quite for a moment, eating the last of their morsels, I look down at my deer, wishing I could make a good stew out of it.

"We could do it, you know," the boy says quietly.

"What," the girl asks.

"Leave the district. Run off. Live in the woods. You and I, we could make it," he replies.

"If we didn't have so many kids," the boy says sullenly.

I can feel my mouth forming a wide 'o' at the word kids. They look, like, seventeen, I start backing up; this is a relationship I really don't want any part with.

_Crack…_

I step on a twig, lightly treading over it. It snaps with a small, dull sound, but unfortunately it's loud enough that the girl notices.

The girl pulls up her bow as fast as I pull up mine (though mine's definitely looks cooler with the whole waves thing going on).

I expect to see some stranger with bad hair, but instead, I'm staring into the surprised face of Katniss Everdeen. The only way I could tell she was surprised was the fact her eyes widened slightly.

She must've understood my surprised look as well, Adaya always says my face hardens even more, which is understandable because all the surprises I get mean something bad like starvation or becoming homeless. In all honestly, I'm tired of being surprised, because then I would never ever have to worry.

The boy I've identified as Gale looks back between both of us, unsure of what just happened. Apparently we're reading each other like books by the way he frowns.

"Percy?" Katniss asks confused, momentarily letting her guard down, "what are you doing here?"

"Do you two really have kids," I blurt out before I can stop myself, I tend to be impulsive.

But I regret it as Katniss glares at me through her reddening cheeks. Gale inches away from her side awkwardly.

"No," she stutters out, "I'm talking about Prim, and Gale was talking about his brothers and sister."

"Okay," I say, _my_ cheeks reddening; that makes a lot more sense.

Gale then steps forward, taking the spotlight, "How much did you hear," he doesn't trust me.

I lean forward, baiting him, and whisper, "Running off would never work; he has eyes and ears everywhere."

By 'he', I mean President Snow, the way the duo look at each other I know they understand.

"Just as well, that's none of your business," he says stiffly.

"You're right…and I understand you're concerns. I would do anything for Adaya…though I would never think about running off and leaving her in the first place."

Katniss looks at me sharply and I know she's seeing genuine love and adoration on my face, mirrored by her own protectiveness for Prim, of who she'd give up the world for. But I also see her confusion, as if I've said something wrong.

"Adaya," she says carefully, "was that Prims best friend?"

"The very same," I reply, "she's wearing the lavender dress Prim smuggled out for her to the Reaping."

Katniss frowns slightly, "I hated that dress," she says, recalling it in her mind, "but Adaya's not…she isn't," Katniss stutters.

I smile, "I whole-heartedly agree," I say, ignoring the last part.

I then notice Gale, still staring in shock at my words, taken back.

"Well, nice meeting you," I say to Gale, more than Katniss, "Katniss is pretty introverted, I've never actually said more that 'hi', and the whole 'steely eyes thing' someday, you've got to tell me how you did it."

Gale grins slightly and nods in affirmative.

I turn around to leave, then stop and add, "May the odds be ever in your favor."

I've surprised myself today, though I'm a likable enough, I'm pretty quiet and reserved, like a male Katniss Everdeen, talking doesn't come really naturally to me.

_Something was different._

Dragging the doe, I shoot several squirrels along the way, which confirms some extra pocket money.

I get to the orphanage ten minutes after twelve; reasonably early. I carefully gut the deer while leaving the two of the four squirrels untouched to sell later.

Hanging the carcass in the ginormous fridge Matilda has for fresh meat, I walk outside and go find Adaya. I find her with some of the other girls; telling them all to go get ready, I pull her aside.

"Adaya, if I get reaped…" she pulls back, rejecting my words, but I persist, I get closer and take her face between both hands. I stare into her blue eyes, "Adaya, if I get reaped, I want you to watch with pride."

Her eyes are now huge, telling me more things than she could possibly say. Most of all, _I love you._

"I love you AA," I say in a low whisper, making sure she _knows_ and _understands._

* * *

It's time, about one thirty, kids twelve to eighteen are lined up in a roped off section marked by ages, the oldest in the front, the youngest in the back. Family members hold their loved ones hands, trying to comfort them. Adaya and I have no one, we are forever alone.

I stand on the outside of the sixteens' watching Prim and Adaya hug Katniss as she walks in, she looks surprised.

The big, main huddle of sixteens is not where I belong. It's funny how even in the lowest of the low; we still have our rejects and outcast.

I see Katniss come into the sixteen's, also on the outskirts, but still recieved in a small clump. Walking to her, I get sight of the temporary stage in front of the Justice Building; it holds three chairs, a podium, and two glass balls, one for the girls, and one for the guys. I stare at the boys, about sixty of so slips of paper have my name on them in careful handwriting, for orphaned kids, you don't have much of a choice.

Matilda entered me twelve times the first year for eleven tesserae's. They were for my grain and oil along with ten other kids assigned to me grains and oils.

In other words, five years ago there were four kids in the orphanage at the eligible age, and about forty younger kids give or take a few. So, the younger kids were split up evenly among us four, and since they're cumulative, there was no way to back out of it once my eleven entered eligibility.

The whole system is unfair, the poor getting the worst of it.

"Percy." Katniss is suddenly in front of me, she looks beautiful, but not herself in any way.

"Yep," I reply, "How are you?"

"About as good as it gets," she says, looking over at the girls' glass ball worriedly.

"I understand you," I say solemnly, "you have, like, twenty entries."

"Yeah, the odds are definitely not in my favor."

"Mine neither…but I'm more worried about Adaya, she's in five times."

"I wouldn't ever let Prim enter!" Katniss says shocked and a little angry, but she looks over me with a worried gaze.

I'm confused by her action.

"No," I correct, "_Matilda_ made her enter. She entered me twelve times my first year."

I can tell now that Katniss really pities me, which is understandable, but surprising.

Just then, the town clock strikes two. The mayor steps up to the podium and begins to read. It's the same boring story every year. He tells of the history of Panem, the country that rose up out of the ashes of a place that was once called North America. He lists the disasters, the droughts, the storms, the fires, the encroaching seas that swallowed up so much of the land, the brutal war for what little sustenance remained. The result was Panem, a shining Capitol ringed by thirteen districts, which brought peace and prosperity to its citizens. Then came the Dark Days, the uprising of the districts against the Capitol. Twelve were defeated, the thirteenth obliterated. The Treaty of Treason gave us the new laws to guarantee peace and, as our yearly reminder that the Dark Days must never be repeated, it gave us the Hunger Games.

The rules of the Hunger Games are pretty straightforward. In punishment for the uprising, each of the twelve districts must provide one girl and one boy, called tributes, to participate. The twenty-four tributes will be imprisoned in a vast outdoor arena that could hold anything from a burning desert to a frozen wasteland. Over a period of several weeks, the competitors must fight to the death. The last tribute standing wins.

Taking the kids from our districts and homes, forcing them to kill one another while we watch — this is the Capitol's way of reminding us how totally we are at their mercy. How little chance we would stand of surviving another rebellion.

Whatever words they use, however they say our history, the real message is clear. "Look how we take your children and sacrifice them and there's nothing you can do. If you lift a finger, we will destroy every last one of you. Just as we did in District Thirteen."

To make it humiliating as well as torturous, the Capitol requires us to treat the Hunger Games as a festivity, a happy holiday, and a sporting event pitting every district against the others. The last tribute alive receives a life of ease back home, and their district will be showered with prizes, largely consisting of food. All year, the Capitol will show the winning district gifts of grain and oil and even delicacies like sugar while the rest of us battle starvation.

"It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks," intones the mayor.

Then he reads the list of past District 12 victors. In seventy-four years, we have had exactly two. Only one is still alive. Haymitch Abernathy, a paunchy, middle-aged man, who at this moment appears hollering something unintelligible, staggers onto the stage, and falls into the third chair. He's drunk. Very. The crowd responds with its token applause, but he's confused and tries to give Effie Trinket a big hug, which she barely manages to fend off.

The mayor, Madge's dad, looks distressed. Since all of this is being televised, right now District 12 is the laughingstock of Panem, and he knows it. It also shows how good of a mayor he is, probably ruining his reputation. He quickly tries to pull everyone's attention back to the reaping by introducing Effie Trinket.

Bright, bubbly, and shallow as ever, Effie Trinket trots to the front of the stage and to the podium; she gives her signature, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

Her pink hair must be a wig because her curls have shifted slightly off-center since her encounter with Haymitch. She goes on a bit about what an honor it is to be here, although everyone knows she's just acting to get bumped up to a better district where they have proper victors. Because everyone knows twelve is just a joke.

It's time for the drawings. Effie Trinket says as she always does, "Ladies first," and crosses to the glass ball with the girls' names on it. She reaches in, digs her hand deep into the ball, and pulls out a slip of paper. The crowd draws in a collective breath and then you can hear a pin drop. I silently hope it's not Adaya, my hands fist tightly and my nails dig in so deep I'm sure there will be blood.

Effie Trinket dramatically unfolds the slip while walking back to the podium, she says who it is in a loud clear voice.

I am falling…I am crazy; I know I am, because I just heard her say Adaya Jackson.

And that's not possible.

Because.

She.

Is.

Dead.


	2. Part I: Chapter 2

**Hello People of Fanfiction! Thank you for your amazing reviews!**

**Part I: Urchin**

**Chapter 2**

I have felt like this once before, many times in actuality. I have dozed and slipped off many deer blinds in trees and lost my grasp on many slippery limbs while reading for the tip-top apples.

The pain is a clear pain, a thud — and then instant attempt at retrieving one's breath. It never works for some time though, making you sit in torture being denied another breath. Yes, I have fallen off many trees, and felt this surprise many times, but this time, I feel as if I've never had this sensation before. It's as if I'm falling for the first time again.

But no, this pain is different, sharper, the pain of death. Yes, this is a pain that my mind cannot recall with words alone. The pain is loss, deep loss that cannot be healed or wired shut; instead, it is a gaping hole in my heart.

While I am standing here, listening to Adaya Jackson's name being called, I finally accept the truth that I have denied for so long.

My loving, cheerful sister that I've cherished for eleven years is no more — has been no more. She has been just a ghost figment of my imagination, recreated to bring me happiness and joy.

In reality, the reality that I hate, Adaya died eight months ago from tuberculosis in her lungs. Which was out of the budget to treat, though I would have done anything.

I curse myself. Have I known all this in the deepest reassesses of my mind and being? Has my refusal to believe it shaded from me reality?

_Yes, because you are nothing, and never will be anything._

I push that thought away, but barely. I am devoted to finding out more of the real world, what I have missed these past eight months.

It's Prim that comes to me everyday, comforting me, playing my sister. I hate her for it, but I can't deny that she has become my inspiration, my every waking hour.

She has become my sister, my Adaya. Except for the fact I'm sharing her with Katniss. It burns down my throat; I'm not loosing my sister.

She's already died before.

In the back of my mind I can hear the crowd murmuring unhappily as they always do when a twelve-year-old gets chosen because no one thinks this is fair. And then I see her, the blood drained from her face, hands clenched in fists at her sides, walking with stiff, small steps up toward the stage, passing me, and I see the back of her blouse has become

untucked and hangs out over her skirt.

I am fire now, livid at these Games that will break up my family again.

I'm about to volunteer, who cares that I'm male and Primrose Everdeen is female?

Who cares that I'm probably breaking twenty rules in the district? I do more than that every time I escape the electric fence and into the woods. Who cares that I might die, I owe no allegiance to any person. Who cares that I _will_ be in the Hunger Games?

_One slip in a thousand…one slip in a thousand._

"Prim! I vol—" I say yelling, screaming.

But I do not finish, I am cut off, the heads that had turned sharply my way jerk back to look at someone else.

She runs forward unhalted, yelling Prim's name. She pushes Prim behind her desperately before Prim can mount the stage, "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute."

There's some confusion on the stage. District 12 hasn't had a volunteer in decades and the protocol has become rusty. The rule is that once a tribute's name has been pulled from the ball, another eligible boy, if a boy's name has been read, or girl, if a girl's name has been read, can step forward to take his or her place. In some districts, in which winning the reaping is such a great honor, people are eager to risk their lives, the volunteering is complicated. But in District 12, where the word tribute is pretty much synonymous with the word corpse, volunteers are all but extinct.

"Lovely!" says Effie Trinket. "But I believe there's a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then we, um..." she trails off, unsure herself.

"What does it matter?" says the mayor. He's looking at Katniss with a pained expression on his face. He doesn't really know her, but there's a faint recognition there. The girl who five years ago stood huddled with her mother and sister, as he presented her, the oldest child, with a medal of valor. A medal for her father, vaporized in the mines.

I know, I watched it…does he remember that? Does the mayor remember any of it, any of the hundreds of people who died in the explosion?

_My parents?_

"What does it matter?" he repeats gruffly. "Let her come forward."

Prim is screaming hysterically behind Katniss. She's wrapped her skinny arms around Katniss like a vice. "No, Katniss! No! You can't go!" Even from my far vantage point I can see Prim look at me fleetingly but desperately, begging me to help, to do something.

"Prim, let go," Katniss say harshly, It's obvious to me that this upsets her and she's trying not to cry. When they televise the replay of the reapings tonight, everyone will make note of her tears, and she'll be marked as an easy target. A weakling. I know she will give no one that satisfaction. "Let go!"

Then suddenly, I'm up to the stairs of the stage, Gale right beside me. We grasp Prim by the waist and drag her off Katniss as she screams.

"Up you go, Catnip," Gale says in a voice he's fighting to keep steady.

He is her best friend, I am not, but I will still say something, my mind is whirling.

"Good luck," I whisper to Katniss, but I've already made up my mind, I will be Katniss's luck.

I will not let another family be torn apart, not like mine. I cannot let it happen, I cannot let their family devoured by fire and anger, then turned into ash by death.

After we give Prim to her mother I go to stand back with the sixteen's, mentally preparing myself for what I will do.

"Well, bravo!" gushes Effie Trinket. "That's the spirit of the Games!" She's pleased to finally have a district with a little action going on in it. "What's your name?"

I see her swallow hard. "Katniss Everdeen," she says.

"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Well, who was the handsome boy that practically volunteered as well? Some boyfriend of yours who has to acts like Prim's daddy?"

Katniss really looks embarrassed now, me teasing her earlier is nothing compared to it being televised in front of the entire nation. But at the same time, I can tell she is starting to hate Effie. Prim _has_ no father, and Effie Trinket just rubbed that fact in.

I feel my own cheeks flame, out of anger and embarrassment, no capitol person would care about _our _parent's death.

'No," she eventually stammers out, "He's a friend," she turns halfway to look at me, "A friend that family means everything to."

Effie looks a little put out, but brightens back up instantly "Well, I'm sure all of you are excited now… It's time to choose our boy tribute!"

This time, I think the opposite of what I always hope during the reaping's, _please be me…please be me._ I laugh internally, the irony of this situation; the irony of my life amuses me.

She reaches in the glass ball and calls out, "Peeta Mellark!"

Then I am watching the back of a boy I know, but have never spoken to start making his way to the stage. Medium height, stocky build, ashy blond hair that falls in waves over his forehead. For a moment, I'm too stunned to do what I had planned to do.

Though his panicked blue eyes conceal the fact well, I can still understand his fear. He slowly walks to the stage evenly and semi–smiles at the crowd…not really, it's more of a grimace.

Effie Trinket asks for volunteers, but no one steps forward. He has two older brothers, I know, I've seen them in the bakery, but one is probably too old now to volunteer and the other won't. This is standard. Family devotion only goes so far for most people on the reaping day.

This turn of events has made my decision for me, no longer do I doubt my path.

Gathering up my courage, I am still nervous, I swiftly volunteer before the rational part of my brain commands me to stop. "I volunteer as tribute," I say in a low voice.

The eyes of almost every person bore into my back as I slowly walk up.

Katniss looks cross at me. To her, I probably look like I'm encouraging the whole 'fake romance,' which I'm not.

Prim starts wailing again, and it breaks my heart. How do I tell her that I'm doing this for her?

Effie gasps dramatically while Peeta is frozen in shock, his eyes suddenly melt into gratitude and I'm reminded again of the third reason the un-rational part of my brain was aloud to take control.

As I pass Peeta, I softly whisper to him, "Thank you. Without you, I would not have had those five more years with my sister."

He is not only a boy I have never spoken to, he is also the boy that saved my and Adaya's life. Perhaps it was just fate when he met me almost starved to death on that rainy day so long ago, but I prefer the words magic, grace, and love.

Peeta gave me hope; something that I'd lost long ago, proving not everyone in the world is a selfish hypocrite.

First he gave me bread, then he took a black eye for me…this was so long ago, but nevertheless important. I _had_ given up hope, why shouldn't I have? My parents had just died in a mine accident, and here I was, an eleven-year old boy having to take care of my seven-year old sister. The cottage our parents left us could only shelters us from the rain, provide shade on a hot day. We still needed food, light, and water.

As I walked half dying down the wealthiest part of District 12, Peeta alone saw me, as starvation is not uncommon in this District. He burnt bread for me, endured his mother's wrath, and I have never said thanks in the years after.

I cannot go back from the Hunger Games, but neither can he for saving Ayda and me. Though the risks of our two scandals are monumentally different, I will save him, for saving me.

I have entered the Hunger Games.

Suddenly, before I know it, I am on the stage, staring at Katniss stare at me.

"Two volunteer tributes!" Effie squeals, "and look at that, Katniss's boyfriend, here to save her like a dashing prince."

She's laying the whole 'love' thing thicker than I can believe. It taste in my throat like bile.

"What's your name?" she asks.

"Percy Jackson," I reply stoutly.

"Welcome to the Hunger Games."

I stare hard at her for a moment, and then she turns away quickly.

_Yeah_, I snort in my head,_ because being in the Games is such a huge honor._

The mayor starts and finishes the dreary Treaty of Treason and motions for Katniss and me to shake hands. Her hands are solid, calluses on her fingers from the bow, all in all, the hands of a hunter. She looks me right in the eyes, "What are you doing!" She suddenly whispers, "I can take care of myself."

"I'm not doing this for you at all, not everything is about you," I lash back angrily.

And in an instant, I know, the way she suddenly looks hurt as if I've slapped her, I can tell she wants to cry.

Then her face hardens; she has now pegged me as her first kill, though I plan on doing all the killing. I need her to hate me, because she cannot know what I am doing for her — saving her, because all the reasons stacked up…_that_ will make me cry, and I already look to weak.

But I am weak, "This is for Adaya and Prim," I add softly. Katiss looks at me, and for the first time ever, I believe she is truly seeing me as who I actually am, and not just another person that walks by her and says 'hi,' but never actually stops to talks. Too bad we're in the Hunger Games; I think I've just found someone I could actually be friends with.

Effie starts up again, "Give our 74th Hunger Games tributes a round of applause!"

Then I turn back to face the crowds. To the everlasting credit of the people of District 12, not one person claps for us. Not even the ones holding betting slips, the ones who are usually beyond caring. Possibly because they know me from the Hob, or knew my father, or have encountered Prim, who no one can help loving. So instead of acknowledging applause, I stand there unmoving while they take part in the boldest form of dissent they can manage. Silence. Which says we do not agree. We do not condone. All of this is wrong.

Instead of clapping, first one, then another, and then almost every member of the crowd touches the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and holds it out to both of us. It is an old and rarely used gesture of our district, occasionally seen at funerals. It means thanks, it means admiration, it means good-bye to someone you love. I am speechless, and not for the first time this day. I am surprised that these people who would let me starve to death are now giving me a sign of respect.

Now I am truly in danger of crying, but fortunately Haymitch chooses this time to come staggering across the stage to congratulate us. "Look at them. Look at this one!" he hollers, throwing an arm around my shoulders. He's surprisingly strong for such a wreck. "I like him! I like her!" His breath reeks of liquor and it's been a long time since he's bathed. "They got lots of..." He can't think of the word for a while. "Spunk!" he says triumphantly. "More than you!" he releases me and starts for the front of the stage. "More than you!" he shouts, pointing directly into a camera.

Is he addressing the audience or is he so drunk he might actually be taunting the Capitol? I'll never know because just as he's opening his mouth to continue, Haymitch plummets off the stage and knocks himself unconscious.

He's disgusting, but I'm grateful. With every camera gleefully trained on him, I have just enough time to wipe my eyes on the back of my hand, carrying it off as wiping sweat off my brow. I compose myself and cross my arms menacingly, hoping that people will take note. I stare into the distance; just able to see the top of the tree I hunt from most often, my favorite tree. The 'Water Tree,' I nicknamed it long ago.

Then suddenly, I'm thinking…_what if I could have run away…what if Gale had the right idea and running is the safest?"_

But no — never, my life is here, and I will do everything I can to never be a coward.

We turn back from Haymitch to face the crowd as the anthem of Panem plays.

Odds are, I wont be able to save Katniss, but as I've noticed recently, the odds haven't been very dependable lately.

The moment the anthem ends, we are taken into custody. I don't mean we're handcuffed or anything, but a group of Peacekeepers marches us through the front door of the Justice Building. Maybe tributes have tried to escape in the past. I've never seen that happen though.

Once inside, I'm conducted to a room and left alone. It's the richest place I've ever been in, with thick, deep carpets and a velvet couch and chairs. When I sit on the couch, I can't help running my fingers over the fabric repeatedly. It helps to calm me as I try to prepare for the next hour. The time allotted for the tributes to say goodbye to their loved ones. If anyone comes for me, I will be surprised.

But someone does come, and she's not the only one, apparently I have inspired people today to claim what is theirs.

"Prim!" I say as she runs up to me. I pick her up and twirl her around, exactly like what I used to do for Ayda.

I take in a deep waft, she even smells like Adaya…or what I thought Adaya smelled like.

She looks at me with her huge, blue eyes, "Why'd you do it? For Katniss? For me?"

I smile gently at her, "Of course I did it for you, little duck, but I also did it for Adaya, Peeta, and Katniss…just don't tell her."

Prim laughs, "I wont," she swears. "But why risk your life for us — me?"

Suddenly I'm filled with unspeakable sadness again, "Because, I saved Peeta from his terrible future. If I save Katniss in the games, I save you. If I die, I save myself to live in heaven with Adaya."

"But what about your future," she pushes on, "What about me, if you die?"

"I don't know, little duck…I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place," I say. I am not afraid of the tears that now run unbroken down my cheeks; they are memories, to me.

"Y–you told me to watch you with pride…but I don't know if I can do that," now she cries, I feel terrible.

"Little one, you must _endure_ for me and Katniss."

"Don't give up hope," she says softly, "I known you will win in your heart, whatever the outcome is."

"I will do my best, as I always do," I swear to her.

"This is for you," Prim says unexpectedly, "Adaya gave it to me as her last memorial, she said to give it to you when you are at your lowest, and now I am giving it to you." Prim holds out a gold-circled pin, it has six round, clay beads, all portraying different things. I am astonished at this point, lightning I spot…a maze.

This brings me to a cold sweat; it is all too familiar to me. It's like half my brain recognizes it, and the other can't, they are in dispute, so I cannot access the memories that swirl in my mind, but flirt away when I try to grasp and remember them.

_Was this my father's? Why did she never tell me about this? I know **this**._

And then the Peacekeeper is at the door, signaling our time is up, and I hug Prim like I _am_ her daddy. Then Peacekeeper orders her out.

I understand the look that she shows me, she will stay with me no matter what if I ask, defy any rule. But I nod, she goes out with painfully slow steps, her hands fisted in defiance, and the door closes. I bury my head in one of the velvet pillows as if this can block the whole thing out.

My next visitor is expected, to me at least.

"Why'd you do it," He asks.

"Because you have your whole future in front of you," I plead with him, "I am a mistake, I mean nothing to nobody, if I die, so be it. I have no mourners except one, and if I win, she will loose her sister — and it will be my fault." Then I am shaking him, he has to understand, my pain, my will to die. "This is the best option," I whisper.

Peeta has straightened up, compliance, "Thank you, I can never thank you enough."

"Thank me by keeping Prim alive."

"I swear it."

"Thank you," I close my eyes and slide down the seat partially, I am defeated, I am ashes.

**I have no words...**

**— Jay**


	3. Part I: Chapter 3

**Thank you for your continuous support on this fic! :D**

I've been right not to cry; yet I still did it anyway. The station is swarming with reporters with their insectlike cameras trained directly on my face. But I've had a lot of practice at wiping my face clean of tears and emotions and I do this now. I catch a glimpse of myself on the television screen on the wall that's airing my arrival live and feel gratified that I appear almost bored. My face is slightly red, but that could pass off as just a blush or light sunburn.

I smile inside my mind, winning for Katniss will come easy. In the deepest recesses of my being I know I am a viscous killer, I have no boundaries. I shoot, I hit, I kill… I feel as if it has always been this way, as if this is not my first battle or raging war to take place in.

I see Katniss, she has gotten her emotions mastered as well, her eyes flick to me; then take in the huge bulk of the train. We have to stand for a few minutes in the doorway while the cameras gobble up our images, but then we're allowed inside and the doors close mercifully behind us. The train begins to move at once.

The speed initially takes my breath away. Of course, I've never been on a train, as travel between the districts is forbidden except for officially sanctioned duties. For us, that's mainly transporting coal. But this is no ordinary coal train. It's one of the high-speed Capitol models that average 250 miles per hour. Our journey to the Capitol will take less than a day. I wobble slightly on the rich carpet, grabbing the leg of a table to steady myself.

In school, they tell us the Capitol was built in a place once called the Rockies. District 12 was in a region known is Appalachia. Even hundreds of years ago, they mined coal here. Which is why our miners have to dig so deep.

Somehow it all comes back to coal at school, it's like we're raised for it — which we technically are. Besides basic reading and math most of our instruction is coal-related. Except for the weekly lecture on the history of Panem, it's mostly just a lot of hullabaloo about how much we owe the capitol for saving our sorry butts. There must be more than the lies they're telling us, an actual account of what happened during the rebellion and through the dark days. But I don't spend much time thinking about it. Whatever the truth is, it really doesn't matter to me.

The tribute train is fancier than even the room in the Justice Building, it reeks of money that I can't stand thinking about, what a waste. Katniss and I are each given our own chambers that have a bedroom, a dressing area, and a private bathroom with hot and cold running water. I feel like a spoiled child, but alas I will die anyway and it won't really matter.

There are millions of drawers filled with rich clothes, and Effie Trinket tells me to do anything I want, wear anything I want, apparently everything is at my disposal. Just be ready for supper in an hour. I peel of my old clothes and decide to take a hot shower. The water wakes me up, and suddenly I am feeling more refreshed that I have in a long time. I have never taken a shower before, in the orphanage, we bathed in cold, lifeless water. This shower reminds me of a home I have never been to; it hits my skin and makes me look and feel more human.

Sliding out of the shower, I dry myself with a soft towel. I open the first drawer, scanning the numerous clothing items. I put on some blue jeans and a light green t-shirt, soft, brown, leather, hunting boots lace up my feet. I wonder how in the world they got my foot size.

In the last second I remember the golden pin Prim gave me. I take a good look at it for the first time, there are five clay beads, each bring back clouded memories to the forefront of my mind.

I see a girl, with stormy grey eyes that seem to puncture my very soul. Who is she, I ask myself, but I don't know. These memories play like a fast-forwarded movie.

I pin the golden circle right near my heart, it belongs there, I know.

Effie Trinket comes to collect me for supper. I follow her through the narrow, rocking corridor into a dining room with polished paneled walls. There's a table where all the dishes are highly breakable. Katniss sits waiting for us, the chair next to her empty.

"Where's Haymitch?" asks Effie Trinket brightly.

"Last time I saw him, he said he was going to take a nap," says Katniss.

"Well, it's been an exhausting day," says Effie Trinket. I think she's relieved by Haymitch's absence, and who can blame her?

The supper comes in many moth-watering courses. A thick carrot soup, green salad, lamb chops and mashed potatoes, cheese and fruit, a chocolate cake. Throughout the meal, Effie Trinket keeps reminding us to save space because there's more to come. I don't listen; it's never been one of my skills. I chug everything in site down my gullet, one I've never tasted food so delicious, two I'm skinny and short, ten gained pounds wouldn't hurt me a bit.

"At least, you two have decent manners," says Effie as we're finishing the main course. "The pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages. It completely upset my digestion."

The pair last year were two kids from the Seam who'd never, not one day of their lives, had enough to eat. And when they did have food, table manners were surely the last thing on their minds. I have not technically learned table manners, but wielding a fork and knife is not so difficult. But I hate Effie Trinket's comment so much I make a point of eating the rest of my meal with a lack of manners, I see her sigh.

Now that the meal's over, I'm fighting to keep the food down. I can see Katniss is looking a little green, too. Neither of our stomachs have ever been this full, so it's not too hard to imagine that our stomachs are a little weak.

We go to another compartment to watch the recap of the reapings across Panem. They do there best to stagger them throughout the day so a person could conceivably watch the whole thing live, but only people in the Capitol could really do that, since none of them have to attend reapings themselves. The other people just don't care.

One by one, we see the other reapings, the names called, and the volunteers stepping forward or, more often, not. We examine the faces of the kids who will be our competition. A few jump out as obvious threats in my mind, I snicker at others. There is a fox-faced girl with sleek red hair from District 5; she seems to almost match my cunning ability. A buy I automatically peg as a genius, with a crippled foot from District 10. Most hauntingly, there is a twelve-year-old girl from District 11. She has dark brown skin and eyes, but other than that, she's very like Prim in size and demeanor. Only when she mounts the stage and they ask for volunteers, all you can hear is the wind whistling through the decrepit buildings around her. There's no one willing to take her place, why is Katniss and my deed so rare? It breaks my heart, but I know I cannot save everybody.

Last of all, they show District 12. Prim being called, both Katniss and I trying to volunteer. I see myself let her go, you can't miss the desperation in her voice as she shove Prim behind her. I see Gale and me pulling her off Katniss and watch her mount the stage. Haymitch falls off the stage, and the commenters groan comically.

Then Peeta's name is drawn, and he quietly starts towards the stairs. Then they show me volunteer, it does not look fake in any form or fashion. You cannot see any of my motives for volunteering, but you can definitely feel them roll off me in waves. The commentators are quite at this.

I mount the stage, and Katniss and I shake hands. The audience refuses to clap. The commentators are not sure what to say about the crowd's refusal to applaud. The silent salute, one calls it. One says that District 12 has always been a bit backward but that local customs can be charming. They cut to the anthem again, and the pro-gram ends.

Effie Trinket is disgruntled about the state her wig was in. "Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation. A lot about televised behavior."

I unexpectedly laugh. "He was drunk," I say. "He's drunk every year."

"Every day," Katniss adds. I can't help smirking a little. Effie Trinket makes it sound like Haymitch just has somewhat rough manners that could be corrected with a few tips from her. That's ridiculous, what's she going to do?

"Yes," hisses Effie Trinket. "How odd you two find it amusing. You know your mentor is your lifeline to the world in these Games. The one who advises you, lines up your sponsors, and dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch can well be the difference between your life and your death!"

Just then, Haymitch staggers into the compartment. "I miss supper?" he asks in a slurred voice. Then he vomits all over the expensive carpet and falls in the mess. I get a clear view of his aging face and it makes me want to vomit myself.

"So laugh away!" says Effie Trinket. She hops in her pointy shoes around the pool of vomit and flees the room.

For a few moments, Katniss and I take in the scene of our mentor trying to rise out of the web he wrought himself in, Haymitch slips and lads in more muck, but eventually finds his way to his feet. His very breath smells of liquor and my meal almost comes up right there. Obviously Haymitch isn't what I'd prefer, but Effie Trinket is right about one thing, once we're in the arena he's all we've got. As if by some unspoken agreement, Katniss and I each take one of Haymitch's arms and help him to his feet.

"I tripped?" Haymitch asks. "Smells bad." He wipes his hand on his nose, smearing his face with vomit.

"Let's get you back to your room," I say, even though it's the last thing I want to do. "Clean you up a bit."

We half-lead half-carry Haymitch back to his compartment, along the way he slips back in to unconsciousness. I don't have many choices; I carry him to the bathtub and dump him there.

"It's okay," I say to Katniss, I'll be protecting her from the games, and apparently her sanity, no one deserves the horror of seeing Haymitch in the bath. "I'll take it from here."

For a moment, I know she's weighing my request, trying to see if I'm trying to gain something by this. I scrunch up my nose, how pathetic, why on earth would I volunteer to do this? I'm most definitely not a kiss-up.

"All right," She finally says. "I can send one of the Capitol people to help you." There's any number on the train. Cooking for us. Waiting on us. Guarding us. Taking care of us is their job. Like someone would ever try to kill a tribute, that's basically just putting themselves in their own little hunger games — only the Capitol people could probably kill them without moving a finger.

"No. No. I don't want them, make sure they don't come in," I say, slightly panicking, no one can see what I'm about to do.

She nods and leaves me to look at the disgusting sight of Haymitch Abernathy. Gross. I peal off Haymitch's clothes and pile them on the floor where they make a puddle.

I immediately turn my back to Haymitch. With a flick of my outer mind, I gently push the faucet of the bath on until it spews hot water into the tub. With more of my mind's direction I mentally wash Haymitch until there is no more trace of vomit or perspiration. I turn the faucet off, mentally drain the tub, and finding a connection most would miss between water and a towel I then levitate it to Haymitch and around him.

I finally turn around to what is my only chance of survival — for a little while at least. He looks a little better, but still has a drunken appearance.

I take him to his bed and haul him onto in, which is an impressive feat considering how small I am. I close his door and walk out, tousling my black hair as I walk down the hall.

Tomorrow will be the start of bigger things; I just hope I'll be ready for the lions I'm about to wake up. They will not spare me; they will tear at my flesh and suck the mallow of my bones.

Golden light filters though my windows, creating a reflection on the gray carpet. The occasional tree from outside creates a dappled floor, — _like a horse_, I think suddenly. _My favorite horse_.

I then hear Effie Trinket's voice, calling me to get up and greet the world, the grey ashes of our world. "Up, up, up! It's going to be a big, big, big day!" I try and imagine, for a moment, what it must be like inside that woman's head. What thoughts fill her waking hours? What dreams come to her at night…? How can she be happy with a job that sends children to their death? I have no idea. More questions cloud my mind, yet I push them aside for now.

I put the same outfit as yesterday; the jeans are cool against my skin, the boots soft on my feet. I remember my own boots stuck in my closet, they too are home, but they are a reminder of who I used to be, I cannot wear them.

I look in the mirror, still hot… I smile at my childish foolishness; I guess I am still a child at heart. But in reality, my hair looks like a mess, sticking in clumps that wont lie flat. My eyes are tired, with darker half-moons beneath them. My smile is weary; one side pulls up farther than the other, giving me a lopsided grin.

It doesn't matter anyway, as soon as we reach the capitol, I will have a stylist to dictate my every appearance.

As I enter the dining car, Effie Trinket brushes past me with a cup of completely black coffee. She's muttering obscenities under her breath. Haymitch, on the other hand, his face puffy and red from the previous day's indulgences, is chuckling at who knows what.

"Sit down! Sit down!" says Haymitch, waving me over to a seat to his right. If he's trying to make me feel special, it's epically failing, I don't give a care in the world what he thinks. The moment I slide into my chair I'm served an enormous platter of food. Eggs, ham, piles of fried potatoes all stare up at me. A tureen of fruit sits in ice to keep it chilled for my delight. There's even an elegant glass of orange juice. At least, I think it's orange juice. I've never had orange juice, but it's orange? There is a cup of coffee, and a rich brown cup of something I've never seen.

Haymitch laughs at my confusion, "It's 'hot chocolate," he tells me, "very tasty."

I take a small sip of the hot, yet sweet, creamy liquid and a warm feeling of delight rolls through my stomach. I drain my cup in small gulps.

Then the door once again opens, and I see Katniss poking her head in; she comes to the table and sits across me.

"They call it hot chocolate," I tell her, "very tasty," I echo Haymitch.

I can tell she's analyzing the food, how long could it feed her family with just the basket of rolls.

Speaking of rolls I take a few, I break one in half and study the middle. The middle is a fluffy cloud of white, soft aromas rise from its' still warm center. Matilda didn't buy bread like this; she bought the flat lifeless bread with no yeast in it to make it rise.

A soon as my stomach seems to split apart at the seams; I scan the two other people in the room.

Katniss is still eating, tearing chunks of her rolls and dipping them in the hot chocolate. Haymitch just chose to ignore his food; instead he's knocking back a glass of a strange red juice that he keeps thinning with a clear liquid from another bottle. Judging by the fumes, it's some kind of spirit. I don't know Haymitch, but I've seen him often enough in the Hob, tossing handfuls of money on the counter of the woman who sells white liquor. He'll be totally incoherent by the time we reach the Capitol.

I realize I detest Haymitch. I mean, no wonder the District 12 tributes have never stood a chance. It isn't really their fault; their mentor is an idiot who can't remain sober for even a second. Some of the kids even were strong and fast, they could have won with an apt tutor. But District 12 rarely gets sponsors and he's a big part of the reason why. The extremely rich people who back tributes — either because they're betting on them or simply for the bragging rights of picking a winner — expect someone classier than Haymitch to deal with.

"So, you're supposed to give us advice," I say to Haymitch.

"Here's some advice: Stay alive," says Haymitch, and then bursts out laughing.

"That's very funny," I say in a boring tone, "Only not to us."

In a brink of an eye I lash out at the glass in Haymitch's hand. It shatters on the floor, sending the bloodred liquid running toward the back of the train. A piece of glass flies up from the impact and scrapes over my left eye, other pieces fly around the room and narrowly miss Katniss. "You're a jerk."

Haymitch considers this a moment, then punches at my jaw, I smoothly duck, years of fighting coming back to me. This he considers for an even longer moment, but when he turns back to reach for the spirits, Katniss gets closer and drives her knife into the table between his hand and the bottle, barely missing his fingers. She looks braced for his hit. I swear to the gods if he touches her I will tear him apart with my bear hands. Instead he sits back and squints at us.

"Well, what's this?" says Haymitch. "Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?"

The blood from my cut has started dripping into my eye; I get a towel to staunch it.

"No, don't try to heal it," says Haymitch, stopping me. "Let the cut show. The audience will think you've mixed it up with another tribute before you've even made it to the arena."

"That's against the rules," says Katniss.

"Only if they catch you. That cut will say you fought, you weren't caught, even better," says Haymitch. He turns to Katniss. "Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?"

The bow and arrow is our weapon of choice. But we've both spent a fair amount of time throwing knives as well. Rarely, when I miss the vital organs with an arrow, it's better to get a knife into it, as well, before I approach it.

Katniss yanks the knife out of the table, gets a grip on the blade, and then throws it into the wall across the room. I know her skills, I have watched her hunt; but lucky for her it lodges in the seam between two panels, making her look a lot better than she is. "Yes," she says lifting her chin, "and so can he," she nods in my direction.

"Stand over here. Both of you," says Haymitch, nodding to the middle of the room. We obey and he circles us, he prods us like animals at times, checking our muscles, examining our faces. "Well, you're not entirely hopeless. Both fit. And once the stylists get hold of you, you'll be attractive enough, especially you," he points at me, "you've got a good face, reminds me of Finnick," he mutters.

I don't know what to say, Finnick Odair was the 65th Hunger Games winner. He makes all of the female population in the Capitol swoon with love.

"Smile," Haymitch tells both of us, but looks at me. I give him a lopsided grin, I hope he can't tell it's fake.

"Yes, I am sure you will get many sponsors. People love playboys, encourage that, and work from it, build your army."

_Build your army._

I don't question this. The Hunger Games aren't a beauty contest, but the best-looking tributes always seem to pile up more sponsors.

"All right, I'll make a deal with you. You don't interfere with my drinking, and I'll stay sober enough to help you," says Haymitch. "But you have to do exactly what I say."

It's not much of a deal, but it's better that who he was ten minutes ago.

"Fine," says Katniss.

"So help us," I say. "When we get to the arena, what's the best strategy at the Cornucopia for someone — "

"One thing at a time. In a few minutes, we'll be pulling into the station. You'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don't resist," says Haymitch.

"But — " I begin.

"No buts. Don't resist," says Haymitch. He takes the bottle of spirits from the table and leaves the car. As the door swings shut behind him, the car goes pitch dark. There are still a few lights inside, but outside it's as if night has fallen again. I realize we must be in the tunnel that runs up through the mountains and into the Capitol. The mountains form a natural barrier around Capitol and to block eastern districts. It is almost impossible to enter from the east except through the tunnels. This geographical advantage was a major factor in the districts losing the war that led to my being a tribute today. Since the rebels had to scale the tall mountains, they were easy targets for the Capitol's air forces. They never had a chance, slaughtered like pigs.

Katniss Everdeen and I stand in silence as the train speeds along. The tunnel goes on and on and I think of the tons of rock separating me from the sky, and my chest tightens. I hate being encased in stone this way. _The sea does not like to be restrained,_ I think suddenly. I feel unable to reach sunlight, buried forever in the darkness.

The train finally starts to halt and suddenly bright angelic light floods the compartment. We can't help it. Both Katniss and I rush over to the windows to see what we've only ever seen on television, the Capitol, the ruling city of Panem. The cameras that show us the Capitol haven't fibbed about the grandeur and magnificence of its shining glory. If anything, they have not quite captured it, the rainbow of colors that look at me, the sleek cars that roll on the smooth paved surface, the elaborately dressed people who have never missed a meal in their life. All the colors of this place seem unreal, the pinks too pink, the greens too vibrate, the yellow cuts at my eyes like the sun.

The people begin to gawk and point at us eagerly as they recognize there is a tribute train rolling into the city. Both Katniss and I step away from the window, sickened at how they are excited to watch us die. How can they do this?

They kill us for fun, what would they do to us in anger?

Will they kill our families?

Is what I am trying to do all for nothing?

**_May 10, 2015_**

**Howdy folks, review!**

**I did add some things…**

**Should Percy fall in love with Katniss? Tell me your opinion!**


	4. Part I: Chapter 4

**Sorry guys for not updating in, like, two months! I hope you all love this chapter, and if you reviewed I want to say thanks a million times, you guys make my day!**

**Part I: Urchin**

**Chapter 4**

"**D**oesn't it ever lie flat?" Alvice, wails at me, she groans in frustration as my hair remains wild and untamed, sticking up in odd places that gives me a bed-ridden appearance.

I groan as well, this is _pure_ torture. She has tried seven different hairsprays, five different shampoos, and three conditioners all to see if they would impact my hair that stubbornly refuses to lie down even a little bit. At this rate, I wont have any hair to try and straiten. They even tried gelling it, which only made my hair look greasier than the Capitol's food, and it didn't even work to their dismay.

"I don't think it does," Rhonna, another helper in my prep team with creepy yellow eyes and orange hair, says to Alvice in a weird capitol accent. She slurs her 's's like a drunken person, and every statement that comes from her mouth sounds like a question. "But that's okay, Portia said she'd use it to her advantage."

I have been in the 'Remake Center' for about two hours and I still have yet to meet my stylist. I guess she has no interest in seeing me until Alvice and the other members of my prep team fix some of my obvious problems. I snort; apparently I have a _lot_ of problems. Besides receiving the numerous hair treatments I have been scrubbed down with gritty loam that has not only removed any tracings of dirt from myself, but I'm also reckoning took at least three layers of my skin. They have manicured my fingernails in a way that no longer makes them look like actual _fingernails._ You can see pink skin underneath my nails instead of my usual layer of dirt that is often caked on top.

To Haymitch's pleasure, I have kept my side of the bargain, and not a sound of objection has crossed my lips.

At least, not until now.

"Are you almost done?" I practically whine at them, I don't know how much longer of this torture I can stand. Besides, Haymitch hasn't been though this kind of Hunger Games treatment in twenty-four years. I imagine him as a bearded, yet ruggedly handsome youth chunking bottles and spirits at his prep team and calling them narcissistic words. Yep, he's one to talk about _my_ behavior.

Vactus, the only male in my prep team gives me what I suppose is a sympathetic face. It doesn't work… In fact, it miserably fails. With a winding snake tattoo that goes from his forehead down into his shirt, every time he changes his facial expression it looks like he's murdering a snake. It scrunches up in weird places and I have to cough to pretend like I'm not laughing — a lot.

"Almost," he says, "You're doing pretty well, but if there's one thing I can't stand it's a whiner."

I glare at Vactus, who somehow remains above the earth instead of the six feet under I curse him to be.

After a little while, with an unspoken agreement they step back and observe all their hard work as an artist would look over it's piece with a critical eye. They circle me slowly and even though I know I probably should be embarrassed, I can't help comparing them to chickens that peck around my feet. They don't act like the humans I'm used to, they act without thinking — as if there only purpose is to prepare me, which they do like robots.

"We're going to call Portia, but I believe she's in a meeting right now," Rhoanna says. "We finished you an hour early!"

Great.

Alvice adds, "Percy, you have a break time until Portia's ready."

And with that I flop on the couch.

**Ω∞Ω**

**I **let my mind wander. It wonders far places, and holds onto nothing.

It wonders to the 23 other tributes I will fight to the death with. I see a television across from me, and grabbing the remote I flip through channels until I see a replay of the twelve reaping ceremonies. Fast-forwarding through the boring parts, I mentally categorize the tributes obvious strengths and weakness.

This is something I should have done hours ago when we watched them for the first time; I berate myself.

District 11… District 10… District 9… I tick them off, one by one.

I get all they way down to 4, where I watch their reaping ceremony. Does the tribute look glad that they are chosen? Is there a volunteer? Is the crowd clapping heartily or half-heartedly?

There are no volunteers, even though this is a Career District. The boy, Adam Vigus, looks extremely happy, while the girl looks as if she could care less. I make a mental note of the girl. Anyone who can look death in the eye is pretty confident in his or her abilities.

Then the camera shoots to the mentors' to see the their expressions.

I lazily scan their familiar features…

Suddenly I'm standing up, the remote clutched hard in my hand. I blink to make sure I'm not dreaming, and then take a few steps forward so I'm right in front of the television.

It's a young woman… Even from here I can see that her eyes that sparkle mischievously also hold deeply hidden secrets… and a pain that seems ever looming.

I can't shake the feeling that… _I… should… know… her…_

Her hair is brown with sun kisses, streaks of blonde rays in the midst of darker shades. Her eyes are almost shattered blue, yet they verge closer to grey. Even watching her through this high definition screen sets my blood to ice.

But soon, I am dismissing her as someone who just has a familiar face.

_Lies, lies, _my brain admonishes, but I put those thoughts aside.

Every one of these games are wrapped up in a webbing of lies, what harm is one more?

**Ω∞Ω**

**R**ight after I finish watching District 11's ceremony, my prep team enters.

This time they are back with a young woman I assume is Portia. She looks surprisingly normal for a capitol product. While most stylist are so altered they cease to look human, I can't help thinking that Portia actually looks attractive with a light touch of makeup to bring out her hazel eyes and naturally curly brown mid-back length hair. She is wearing a black shirt and pants, work clothes, I guess. The simplicity of her outfit surprises me, and it brings me a small appreciation for Portia.

"Hi, Percy," she says without a trace of an accent, "I'm Portia, your stylist."

I stare at her for a moment, still slightly cautious, and surprised by her normalcy. "Hello."

"Just give me a second, m'kay?" She walks in slow circles around me, much like the prep team, but unlike them, I can't compare Portia to a chicken. Her eyes take in every detail. _Awkward._ I resist the urge to dash towards the robe that I'd discarded when she'd come in. Then, taking a step closer, she reaches up slightly (She's about an inch or two taller than me… I still haven't hit my growth spurt…) and ruffles my hair, making it messier. "We shall just use this to a lover's advantage."

"Wait, what?" I say… have I missed something?

She shrugs, but smiles at me wryly, "Haymitch said that you should be very desirable… Something about Finnick Odair? Golden boy of the Capitol?"

I'm pretty sure I'm blushing, _really Haymitch…really?_ Portia laughs at my baffled expression.

I change the subject, "Are you and Cinna new? I haven't seen you before on TV." I know for a fact that they're new stylists, but this way I can get more information.

"Yes. I'm new." She says simply.

I elaborate, "Well… I guess all of us hope that one day we'll be known for more than just failing in District 12."

Morbid, gloomy, depressing, I know. I'm starting to understand why I've never had friends. I can just imagine it, "_Oh Bob, don't trip, you might fall into a well that has a shark and leaches at the bottom of it. Don't worry, though, you'll only die slowly in extreme pain! Good luck!"_

Portia's right eyebrow arches but a tugging of a smile betrays her, "You know, I asked for District 12."

"Why?" I'm surprised, but I only play the part, not act it.

She studies me for a second, "You should go put on the robe… Let's have a talk," she says, ignoring my question.

I tug on the blue-gray robe and follow Portia to the sitting room. She gestures at me to sit, which I do on the couch across from an impressive window wall that looks out among the city. Portia sits opposite from me, and by pressing a button on the side of the table we're seated at, the table splits into two and my lunch suddenly rises out of it to face me. Chicken and chunks of oranges cooked in a creamy sauce laid on a bed of pearly white grain, tiny green peas and onions, rolls shaped like flowers, and for dessert, a pudding the color of honey.

Yes, this meal is not even the best the capitol has to offer, but yet it is easily one of the most expensive meals I've ever laid eyes on… and … _I'm… about… to… eat… it! _

Suddenly a whole other world suddenly crashes down on me. All the starving orphans, families in poverty, even the Hunger Games… and suddenly I don't want to eat anymore. People have died for food, for a measly loaf of bread in the Games. The world where food comes at a touch of a button…that's not _my_ world, my world lies with my family.

Do I have a world, now?

My eyes flit up to Portia, who has been staring at me for who-knows-how-long. "What monsters you must think we are."

I cannot be that readable, no way! She must have seen me study my food for the longest of times. But yes, they are monsters in a way — in every way.

"No matter," says Portia, but there is still sadness in her gaze, "So, Percy, were talking about your costume for the opening ceremony. Cinna, as you know, is Katniss's stylist. We have decided for your costumes to support and grow on each other," she says, "I assume you know it is customary for your costume to reflect the benefits of your District?"

I nod. For opening ceremonies, you're supposed to wear an outfit that shows your districts contributions and faculty industries. Coming from District 12, Katniss and I are likely to be dressed in a coal miner's getup. Since what most of our miners wear is not attractive in the least bit, most stylist send out the tributes in skimpy outfits and other attires that cease to flatter them in the slightest.

"Cinna and I have thought long hours on this topic, and we've concluded that coal mining has been extremely over done. 73 years of it, in fact." She says, "We see it as our duty to make District 12 unforgettable."

_And…_

"Yes, coal mining is a major thing in District 12, but let's focus on the actual _coal_. You burn it, burn it to ashes," she says.

"We've decided to light your costume." She gives me a quick grin, noticing the evident distaste in my eyes. "But it wont be regular fire. No! You will have the greatest costume of the ages!"

**A** few hours later, I am dressed in a costume that, while I believe will most definitely make me memorable; it might also potentially lead to a demise that rivals the tortured rebel souls that the capitol killed.

_Morbid, gloomy, depressing…_

I'm in shimmery black suit that covers me neck to ankles and black leather combat boots that lace up. I have a simple yellow belt that wraps around my thin hips. The main attraction, though, is a beautiful fluttering cape that's made of blue, black, and sea green streamers and the matching headpiece. Portia plans on lighting it on fire right before the chariot rolls in.

I crane my head back to look at the beautiful cape; it mesmerizes me, like how you would stare into a fire — completely oblivious. But this is no ordinary fire, no, it is a different kind of flame, it is the color of the deepest waters, the darkest pits. _My_ cape is like the sea, the waves rising and falling and crashing down with the force of a thousand suns…

While Katniss will be the Girl on Fire, red hot with deadly sparks and embers, I am the opposite; I am the blue fire, the hottest — the most deadly. I am cool, until you find out just how deadly I can be.

**Ω∞Ω**

"**T**rust me, it's not a real flame, just a synthetic fire Cinna and I created, you'll be perfectly safe," Portia says.

I wonder if she can tell that by needing to reassure me, she's making the fake fire sound even more dangerous.

Probably not.

I've had many fears in my life, being a human barbeque has sadly never been one of them.

I push those thoughts aside when I see Katniss who's dressed in an almost identical costume; she has a yellowy-orangey-red cape and a blue belt.

I'm excited now. Not many people can say they've been purposely lit on fire and lived to tell the tale.

With a giddy smile I look over at Katniss, she nervously shoots me a half-smile. In fact, almost everyone seems to be nervous, except Cinna. He just looks weary as he accepts congratulations.

We're soon whisked down to the bottom level of the Remake Center, which is basically a gigantic horse stable. The opening ceremonies are about to start. Pairs of tributes are being loaded into chariots pulled by teams of four horses. Ours are coal black with not a speck of white anywhere. The animals are so well trained; no one even needs to guide their reins, they only use the best for the Hunger Games.

Soon it's our turn to mount the chariot. Portia and Cinna look us over with critical eyes and rearrange our positions before coming to a standstill, satisfied.

"I think they're crazy…about the fire." Katniss whispers to me.

"Yeah," I shudder, "Water and fire? Definitely a no." I try to make light of things, "Both of us together…we'll make, like, steam…"

Maybe I'm not humorous; maybe I can't come up with on-the-spot jokes, but none of that matters, Katniss is laughing.

At me, or with me, I'll take it.

And then suddenly we're both laughing. I guess the fear of the Games and more immediate threat of burning to death has made us both act rash and un-sensibly.

Then the opening music begins. Gigantic metal doors that seem to detain rather that greet open up to us. The whole opening ceremony lasts about twenty minutes where we'll end up at the City Circle. After that we'll be escorted to the Training Center where we'll be under 'Protective House Arrest' until the Games begin.

District 1 leads, as it always has, and rides like the little gems they are in a chariot pulled by stark white horses. They are beautiful, their silvery-white tunics with expensive jewelry. District 1 has always been a Capitol favorite, but I do admit they look stunning.

District 2 is immediately in position to go next, and soon enough Katniss and I are nearing the doors.

Just as the District 11 tributes are rolling out the doors, Cinna appears with two lighted torches, black blue and green for me, and all the colors of fire for Katniss. At first, when the horses see the strange lights they squirm in their saddles, but as soon as Cinna gets a few feet from the first mare, I know she's in danger of bucking.

I reach out my fingertips as far as I can so that I'm able to lightly run them over her back. As if I possessed a magic touch, the mare stills and calms down. I whisper, "Thank you, Blackie," the name just seems to fit. She whines softly, but I shudder, it's almost like she can hear and comprehend my plead for her to be still.

Unfortunately my little daze with Blackie ends all to soon, and soon I am reminded of why she was _afraid._

"Here we go!" Cinna says in a mad-crazy voice, and before I can protest, he has lit our capes on fire. I let out an audible gasp, expecting a scorching, blinding heat, but instead, I feel a faint tickling sensation that encompasses my whole body. Cinna climbs up to light our headpieces and then lets out a sigh of relief. "It worked!" He sounds elated. He then tucks a hand under Katniss' chin and tells her, "Heads high! Smile, the audience is going to love you!"

I snicker at her; she looks like a reprimanded child.

Cinna jumps off and shouts one last thing that is drowned out by the blaring music. He shouts again and makes a gesture with his hands.

"What's he saying?" Katniss asks me. I turn my head to her and for the first time I see and realize that with the flames, she looks absolutely breathtaking. (Not that she always looks bad) The fire lights her up, highlights her eyes and makes them come alive, her hair dances in the small wind along with the fire.

I can tell Katniss is staring open jawed at me, but I answer her before asking why. "I think he wants us to hold hands," I grab right with my left and look at Cinna who gives me two thumbs up. Then I question Katniss, "Do I look that bad?" I say smiling, "You've been staring at me for the past minute."

"No… no… You look great. The fire accentuates your eyes very nicely and the cape looks like a real wave with blue fire." Then she shudders, and I know it's not the wind's fault, "You look almost…evil — in a good way. All icy and cold, very in command."

I decide to take that as a complement instead of an insult and smile, "You look rather dashing yourself."

Then we enter the city.

At first, the crowd just stares at us with bulging eyes, and I guess we must be making quite an appearance. And then the silence turns into whoops and hollers, everyone is clapping, at I realize, us. Us! We're the reason that all these people look awestruck! This is most possibly the most excited feeling I've ever felt in my life. Exhilaration and adrenaline pumps hard through my veins.

Soon they're cheering "District 12" and every head is turned in our direction. In the first few moments, I'm paralyzed, but then I catch view of a large television screen. Both of us are incredible, the light from Katniss and the dark from mine clash very nicely, and while Katniss seems to lead on a trail of light, I seem to do the same with dark. Portia used no makeup on me, which makes my cape naturally enhance everything. Together, Katniss and I look completely in control, solemn, but warm, we look ready to take on the challenges. We are Matched, like a set of blades.

Remember, heads high. Smile. Cinna's voice flutters through my head. Both Katniss and I, together, raise our heads and put on bright smiles. I tug our linked hands up so it's visible to all. With my other hand, I wave at the crowd. The horses are so steady; I don't have to hold onto the black rail before me.

As I gain confidence, and my smile more genuine, I blow a couple of kisses to the capitol girls, hearing Haymitch tell me, _"Build your army," _in my mind. Several times I run my hands through my hair, making it messier.

The people of the capitol are going crazy by us, showering us with flowers, shouting our names, and girls are blowing me back kisses tenfold as well.

I don't think that the capitol is going to forget us that easily, and I have Portia to thank. They wont forget us, Katniss the girl on fire, and me, the darkest flame.

Hope is steadily rising within my chest; surely some of these people are rich! With a reckless thought, I note how, if I'm careful, I can lean over the chariot side far enough make physical contact with the people.

At first I reach my hand out into the masses to high-five everyone, but then, growing bolder, I press my lips to my hand and blow out a kiss. You'll never believe how many try to high-five my hand after that.

All I can hear is my name being shouted along with Katniss. Every one loves us. Everyone loves _me._

I'm not used to feeling liked, because, in all honesty… I'm not liked. People don't like me. So this is completely new territory for me, and I don't know whether I'm swimming… or sinking.

I clutch onto Katniss' hand tighter, almost as if it's a natural gesture. Then I realize I'm probably holding so tight that I'm cutting off her circulation. I look down at our inter-webbed hands, but as I loosen my grip, she hold on tighter. "Please?" She whispers, "I'm going to fall of."

"Okay," I say. I keep holding her hand, but a part of my mind wonders why Cinna had us linked together… especially if we might kill each other in the arena.

Eventually, all the chariots have filled in the loop around the City Circle except us — District 12, being last, still has twenty meters to go. I look up at the buildings around us that hold the most prestigious and important citizens of the Capitol, I wave at a man in a wheelchair through the glass as I pass by.

Our chariot comes to a standstill in front of President Snow's mansion. The music abruptly stops.

The president, a small and thin man that has a paper white Santa Claus hair and beard gives the official welcome from a balcony way above us. It is traditional to show the faces of all the tributes during the speech. But I can see that Katniss ad I are getting way more airtime than the others. The darker it becomes, the more often they shoot to us, where Katniss lights up everything, and where I cause a more sinister but breathtaking light. As the national anthem plays, the camera once again shoots quickly through the other tributes, but remains on us for the rest of the time as we parade around the circle and disappear into the Training Center.

The doors have just shut when we're swarmed by out prep teams, who praise us in a whirlwind of complements. I take a look around, and shudder as I notice the glares Katniss and I are receiving. This just confirms what I already thought, that we outshone them all, literally. Then Cinna and Portia appear, they help us off the chariot and carefully remove out flaming capes and headdresses. Portia extinguishes them with some kind of spray from a canister.

That's when I realize that my hand is still glued to Katniss'. I slowly pry my stiff fingers from hers' and we both begin to massage our hands.

"Thanks, Percy." Katniss says, a genuine smile on her face.

I smile back, "You we're truly amazing… The star of the show! You captivated the audience's entire attention. Flames suit you well, Katniss Everdeen." Maybe I'm laying it on a little thick, but everything I say is true and in awe of her.

She looks taken back, but another one of her smiles quirks her way onto her face. She considers me for a second, and then takes a step forward. Standing on her tippy toes, she kisses my cheek.

But I'm not surprised; I know she has ulterior motives.

In fact, I can almost hear her saying (though I'm positive she's thinking it), "_Two can play at this game."_

**Well, guys, once again I'm sorry for not updating very soon, and for the fact this chapter has no action in it at all… But look on the bright side! The Hunger Games are about to start!**

**I don't know what caused me to change Percy's costume, but if you think about it, it makes since for Percy to be slightly water-orientated; it's just that this time, he's also the blue flame. **

**What do yah think?**

**Should Percy and Katniss be together? Or who else?**

**Yes, Fire and Water! It makes STEAM! — 8**

**No, Friends only! — 8 (This includes the people who do are Percabeth supporters) **

**Annabeth Chase (Some people said they are Percabeth supporters, if I can somehow find a way for Annabeth to cross dimensions I will… (but who's to say I haven't already done that (Hint, Hint))— 2**

**Foxface (I think someone commented)? — 1**

**Other — **

**In other words, 8 people want Percy and Katniss, 8 people don't want Percy and Katniss ****_(including the Percabeth supporters)_****, 2 people want Percy and Annabeth, and ****_(I think)_**** 1 person wants Percy and Foxface**

**Comment if you like Cinna!**

— **Jay :D**


	5. Part I: Chapter 5

**Hey guys! What's up? Reviews are like music to my ears, and doughnuts to my taste buds!**

**If you reviewed, thank you so much guys!**

**Part I: Urchin**

**Chapter Five**

**The First Conversation**

Man: How in the world am I supposed to get in there? Do you know how complex their security system is?

Sir: Of course. You're going to use the ventilation system. There's an air duct right above where the Gamemakers' will be seated. I've already worked you in as a gardener from twelve to six; you have a break around four so no one will be suspicious if you're not gardening while He's in his session. Here's a map of the system, the entrance is right next to the water pump in the supply room.

Man: Why am I doing this again?

Sir: Because I said to, why else?

Man: I have a feeling you wouldn't like my response. I tend to be impulsive.

Sir: No doubt about that… You sure you know what to do? We can't afford to mess up because of your pride.

Man: You've gone over the plan, like, once. Do you really expect me to memorize everything that comes from your mouth? You know I have ADHD!

Sir: I thought that ADHD faded with age?

Man: Maybe slightly, but I had an extreme case of it! And I'm _not_ old. Besides, time is ticking, what's the plan?

Sir: Never said you were old, _you _did. And for the _second _time, during the next two days, you're gardening at Garden C, which is to the right of the main fountain. Your break is around four in the afternoon, and your shift is twelve to six.

Man: That's six hours; do plants really need that much water?

Sir: Garden C is about 2 acres in diameter. It's pretty huge, but besides that, the different plants need to be watered at different times of day.

Man: Picky Plants.

Sir: Shut up. You're distracting me! Anyhow, the first security system is here, and I already have people who are going to knock down the firewall as soon as you appear on the inner radar. There are four more security points that you will be crossing, and all of those will be knocked out by the time you're in. There are guards stationed here, and here, that protect around the main office and the main center. The most crucial place you might slip up is the junction here; you take the third left, no matter how big you have to take the third. There are several more junctions, but if you go straight through those, you'll be fine.

Man: That's a lot of information.

Sir: You sure you can do it? We can get a smaller replacement that might feel better in a cramped place.

Man: Yeah, I can do it; I'm smaller that average… slightly. Besides, who else is even powerful enough to worm out of trouble in case they are caught? Not everyone is I. Not everyone has the same rights and liberties as I.

Sir: No need to give me you life story. But hmm, I never pegged you to be into poetry anyway.

Man: I love poetry because _she_ loves it.

Sir: Bleh. Don't get mushy on me, your start work tomorrow. Make sure to put on a disguise, you being you could definitely cause a swarm of women to magically show up.

Man: I'm ready.

Sir: Good. May the _gods_ be ever in your favor.

**Ω∞Ω**

**T**he Training Center has a tower that is basically dedicated to the tributes and their entire teams. This is our home until the games begin. Our district matches with our floor, so obviously, we have floor 12. I like how the capitol thinks — very simply.

I've been in an elevator about four times; all of those times were in the Justice Building. One of the times I can still recall like a movie; when I received a medal for my father's death. But that elevator was a dingy stinky old thing; the one I'm currently riding on is a luxurious thing. This elevator gives me the feeling of exhilaration, and with crystals walls and a floor, I can see ants that I identify as people. I love the feeling, and toss around the idea of asking Effie to ride it again and again. But I don't, though I want to.

Effie is super excited; apparently she's never had a pair of tributes that have ever made a splash in the pond like we have. Apparently she and Haymitch have been talking to anyone and everyone, trying to win us sponsors.

"I've been very mysterious, though," she says, her eyes squint half shut. "Because, of course, Haymitch hasn't bothered to tell me your strategies. But I've done my best with what I had to work with. How Katniss sacrificed herself for her sister and how Percy sacrificed himself for Peeta. How you've both successfully struggled to overcome the barbarism of your district."

The word 'barbarism' sets my blood to boil, but with an icy cold glare from Katniss, warning me not to voice my thoughts, I cool right back down. Seriously, her glare is _scary;_ it makes the hair on the back of my neck rise slightly.

"Everyone has their reservations, naturally. You being from the coal district. But I said, and this was very clever of me, I said, Well, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls!'" Effie beams at us with true happiness so that we have no choice but to respond enthusiastically to her cleverness even though it's wrong.

Coal doesn't turn into pearls, coal turns into diamonds, cheep, fake diamonds that aren't worth anything. Either way, I'm not a piece of coal, so comparing me to one is invalid. To me, at least.

I wonder if the people she told that to either didn't know or didn't care. With my knowledge of the capitol, I'd bet on 'didn't know.'

"Unfortunately, I can't seal the sponsor deals for you. Only Haymitch can do that," says Effie grimly. "But don't worry, I'll get him to the table at gunpoint if necessary."

I'm not used to this kind of Effie Trinket, the Effie I always knew never seemed to care about the tributes, but this Effie has strength and determination I can't help but admire. I smile brightly at her.

My living quarters are bigger than three fourths of our orphanage, and I can't help thinking about what a monumental waste of space it is. They are plush, much like the train car, but also have so many automatic trinkets and gadgets that blow my mind to pieces. Almost literally. The shower alone has more buttons than I could press in a day, water temperatures, pressure, oils, soaps, shampoos, scents, and massaging sponges to make your shower, the most AMAZING time of your life! Which is unfortunate with the ever so looming presence of the Hunger Games. When you step out the crystal door laden with golden swirls, the mat underneath your feet has a heater and other heated fans blow you dry. (You know, wasting 30 seconds to dry yourself is obviously waste of time) There is an instant de-tangle for hair, if you have longish hair, which I don't. The strange driers must've done something to my hair because it feels extremely soft and silky. I can't help running my hands through my hair, marveling at the softness.

Then, I program the closet for an outfit that fits my taste. The windows zoom in and out, creating piece by piece the outfit at my command. Black jeans that cling to my legs and a white undershirt over an unbuttoned red plaid shirt, I'm wearing some brown leather combat boots that my jeans tuck in to. I'm in awe, you only need to whisper a type of food from a gigantic menu into the mouthpiece and it appears in a blink of an eye. I walk around the room exploring other contraptions while eating this strange food called, _macaroni,_ that basically is a hollow tube of pasta covered in a cheesy, creamy substance.

Macaroni… Even the name of the food sounds strange, exquisite, and grassy the way it slides off my tongue.

I hear a knock on my door; Effie is calling me to dinner.

Good. I'm hungry.

Katniss, Cinna, and Portia are on a balcony over looking the Capitol City when we enter the dining room. I think about how disastrous this dinner could go with both Haymitch and Effie in the same setting. But, thankfully, this dinner focuses more solely on our strategies and planning how we're going to tread through this battlefield. Cinna and Portia have already done a splendid job on showing how important and valued strategies can be.

A silent young man dressed in a white tunic offers each of us all stemmed glasses of wine. I decline, but see Katniss take one and sip it daintily. I want to laugh at the expression on her face; she puckers her lips then grimaces and soon abruptly puts down the glass.

Haymitch shows up just as dinner begins to be served. I guess he has his own stylist by his cleaned up and groomed appearance. He's sober to a degree, though that doesn't stop him from refusing the offered wine. I realize that this is the first time I've ever seen Haymitch eat as he slurps down his soup in a manor that makes Effie glare. Hope suddenly rushes into me, maybe Haymitch can pull himself together long enough to help us!

Cinna and Portia seen to have both a civilizing and calming effect on Haymitch and Effie. At least they speak to each other decently. And they both have nothing except praise for our marvelous stylist, insisting that our costumes were perfectly done with amazing details. Apparently we made quite an unforgettable entrance. I'm not one for small talk; instead, I study the meal that lies before me. Mushroom soup, bitter greens with tomatoes the size of peas, rare roast beef sliced as thin as paper, noodles in a green sauce, cheese that melts on your tongue served with sweet blue grapes. The servers, all young people dressed in white tunics like the one who gave us wine, move wordlessly to and from the table, keeping the platters and glasses full.

Each time, I ignore the wine, preferring orange juice. Yummy.

I try and focus on the current talk, which has turned into interview costumes, when a black haired girl sets a gorgeous-looking cake on the table a lights it deftly. It captivates my attention, and seemingly coordinates with our whole, lit-on-fire outfits. The cake blazes up and then down around the edges awhile until it finally blows out.

"What makes it burn? Is it alcohol?" Katniss says, as mesmerized as I. "That's the last thing I wa — oh! I know you!"

Then both of our eyes shoot up to the girl, her icy blue eyes stare right at me for a moment, and I can't look away. Once again, I feel the emotion of nostalgia, longing in the back of my throat.

_Icy — electric — blue eyes._

Something in the back of my head itches, her face seems familiar…too familiar.

_Icy — electric — blue eyes._

Her hair slightly sways as she abruptly shakes her head at Katniss, and the four adults are watching her like hawks.

"Don't be ridiculous, Katniss. How could you possibly know an Avox?" snaps Effie. "The very thought."

"What's an Avox," she asks, and might I say rather stupidly.

"Someone who committed a crime. They cut her tongue so she can't speak," says Haymitch. "She's probably a traitor of some sort. Not likely you'd know her."

Her eyes definitely seemed rebellious, but they also sparked with acknowledgment when they met mine…

"And even if you did, you're not to speak to one of them unless it's to give an order," says Effie. "Of course, you don't really know her."

But she does know her, I can tell through Katniss' eyes that she knows her, but the thing is? I know her too.

_Icy — electric — blue eyes._

"No, I guess not, I just — " She stammers out, and the wine is obviously not helping her case.

My brain searches frantically for something, anything, that will get Katniss out of the iron webbing she has wrought herself in.

I snap my finger, "Delly Cartwright. That's who it is. I kept thinking she looked familiar as well. Then I realized she's a dead ringer for Delly."

I'm lying of course; Delly Cartwright is a pasty-faced, lumpy girl with yellowish hair who looks about as much like our server as a beetle does a butterfly. She may also be the friendliest person on the planet — she smiles constantly at everybody in school, even me. I have never seen the girl with spiky black hair smile.

"Of course, that's who I was thinking of. It must be the hair," Katniss say.

"And the eyes," I add.

The energy at the table relaxes. "Oh, well. If that's all it is," says Cinna. "And yes, the cake has spirits, but all the alcohol has burned off. I ordered it specially in honor of your fiery debut."

I sneak glances at the server girl as often as I can, but she never meets my gaze. But as soon as my back is turned, I can tell two icy eyes are staring hard at my back.

I wonder if we are friend of foe? Because while one part of me think she could embrace me with open arms, the other part of me feels that she has already pinned a target on my back.

_Icy — electric — blue eyes._

**Ω∞Ω**

We eat the cake and move into a sitting room to watch the replay of the opening ceremonies that's being broadcast over Panem. A few of the other couples make strong impressions on the crowds, but none of them can hold a candle to our brilliance. Even our own party lets out an "Ahh!" as they show us coming out of the Remake Center.

"Whose idea was the hand holding?" asks Haymitch.

"Cinna's," says Portia.

"Just the perfect touch of rebellion," says Haymitch. "Very nice."

Rebellion? I think about that for a moment, and conclude that it was rebellious. I remember the other couples, standing stiffly apart, and never touching or acknowledging each other as if their fellow tribute did not exist, as if the Games had already begun. Presenting ourselves not as adversaries but as friends has distinguished us as much as the fiery costumes.

"Tomorrow morning is the first training session. Meet me for breakfast and I'll tell you exactly how I want you to play it," dismisses Haymitch to Katniss and I. "Now go get some sleep while the grown-ups talk."

Katniss and I walk together down the long corridor to our rooms. When we reach Katniss' room, I put my hand across the door, acutely blocking her from entering with the rest of my body. She has some explaining to do, and I'm not one to beat around the bush.

"So, Delly Cartwright. Imagine finding her lookalike here." I say, a sly grin on my face. Hmm… Maybe I am evil?

I can tell Katniss is thinking about my silent proposal.

I prompt her, "Have you been on the roof yet?" She shakes her head. "Cinna showed me. You can practically see the whole city. The wind's a bit loud, though." I saw the roof this morning before Portia 'remade' me in the Remake Center.

She asks, "Can we just go up?"

"Of course," I tell her, "C'mon."

She follows me to the flight of stairs that leads to the roof. There's a small dome like room that has a door to the outside. As we go outside, I hear Katniss catch her breath at the view, which is stunning. It twinkles like stars in the sky or fireflies in a meadow. Electricity back in 12 comes and goes, and we often spend more time in darkness than in light. But here… I don't believe they've ever had a power outage because they're so advanced. Ever.

I lead Katniss to the railing at the edge of the roof, and stare at her eyes that light up innocently in the moonlight as she basks in the glory that the Capitol has to offer.

"You know," I muse, running my hand down the railing, "I almost thought… That I should jump… Right here and right now."

"It would definitely be less painful," she says, but looks over me, emotions clouding her expression.

I stare darkly at the ground, emotions are puling at me as well, rising in my throat, "But you can't. You can't jump. They won't let you, there's a force field," I say bitterly. "We're caged…forever… But maybe that's the point."

I look over at Katniss, who holds my gaze steadily, but sorrowfully. I want to scream, but I resist, as I often do.

"Come see the garden," I say softly.

On the other side of the dome they've built a garden with potted plants and trees. One bright flower only blooms at night, it has delicate petals and a soft glow. I call it a moonlace. I finger the small blossom, and take a deep whiff of it.

With the wind, the cameras will be hard pressed to get an audio. Katniss examines other blossoms, and then whispers, "We were hunting in the woods one day a year or two ago. Hidden, waiting for game."

"Gale," I immediately say.

She nods in affirmation, "Suddenly all the birds stopped singing at once. Except one. As if it were giving a warning call. And then we saw her. I'm sure it was the same girl that served us, and a boy was with her. Their clothes were tattered. They had dark circles under their eyes from no sleep. They were running as if their lives depended on it."

"I could tell they were siblings, even though they looked nothing alike. It was only later that I saw that they had the same electric sky blue eyes."

"But then, a hovercraft appeared out of nowhere, one second it was clear blue sky, and the next it was there. It didn't make a sound, but they saw it. A net dropped down on the girl and carried her up, fast, so fast like the elevator. They shot some sort of spear at the boy, but missed. The second time they shot, the got him and was able to haul him up. I think he was dead…but I'm not positive. We heard the girl scream once. The boy's name, I think. Then it was gone, the hovercraft. Vanished into thin air. And the birds began to sing again, as if nothing had happened."

My blood has once again turned to ice; I manage out, "What was his name? Did you catch it?"

She looks at me, an unreadable expression, "Grayson," she says finally, "I'm pretty sure she said Grayson."

"Grayson…" I try out the name.

Katniss looks agitated, and then something in her hard exterior seems to crack, "But Percy, the thing is? She looked right at me; she knew I was there! She called out for me to help, and all I did was stay where I was! I let someone die!"

"It's okay… You truly regret it." I tell her, immediately knowing it was the wrong thing to say.

"It's not okay!" She explodes. "So what if I regret it," she scoffs. "One dead, one taken as a slave forever!" she lashes out.

I wait until she calms. Katniss searches my eyes for reassurance, and then shivers. I am silent, but I slip an arm around her shoulders and pull her closer. After a moment's hesitation, she lets me.

I keep my voice low, and soothing, "You see this flower?" I say pointing to the moonlace, "It's a special kind of flower called a moonlace. You see, Katniss… it only blooms at night, it's different, but in an amazing way. It reminds me of hope; the way it shines in the darkest hour, when all is in despair."

I am silent for a moment longer, basking in the momentary silence and peace; the Hunger Games is currently at the back of my mind. "Once upon a time, I ceased to think anything ever good was going to happen with my life, that I would never be anything… or love anyone… Because in a blink of an eye, Adaya was torn away from me. Yes, my sister, but also my everything, my whole world." Once again, I am silent, but this time in bliss. Memories of me and my sister float around in my head, I briefly smile, and lean my head back against the wall.

"What happened?" Katniss asks, momentarily lost in my story.

"I found a new moonlace." I say simply. "Her name was Primrose Everdeen. She brightened my day, and became my sister in place of the one I lost. She became my light, and I tried to focus on her, and not my situations." I sigh, "Moving on…trying again… It's not easy, but it was what Adaya would have wanted me to do, and as a last tribute to my sister, I did it."

Maybe I'm not just telling this to Katniss… Maybe I'm also trying to tell myself something that has always been too hard to believe. Maybe I'm still trying to get over Adaya myself. _Maybe…_

Advice is always easier said than done.

"Who told you about the moonlace?" Katniss asks, curious.

I am silent for a moment, an inner turmoil rages… Do I tell her? Do I tell this girl I barely know about the woman I lost? Can I trust her, when I have been betrayed more times that not?

"My mother," I finally work out, "She told me about the moonlace, and she was told by a friend."

"How did your mother die?" She blurts out and immediately winces at her words. I stare at her for a second, shocked at her bluntness. She blushes, "Sorry… Don't answer that…"

I sigh, knowing she wants me to. "It's okay," I muse, "You just caught me unaware, I promise." I look directly at her, smiling sincerely. "My mother didn't die…at least I don't think she has." I frown. "She left us shortly after my father's death, two months to be exact."

This time Katniss frowns, "Where did she go?"

"I'm not sure. She left no note, or any sign at all. Four months after that, Adaya and I moved in to Mitilda Marietta's Orphanage for Orphaned Children after bribing her with old trinkets that my mother left behind, and I had no use for."

"Do you mind me asking…? Why in the world would she leave you?" Katniss bites her bottom lip, and takes a deep breath, "I mean, you're tolerable, but Adaya was always an angel."

I laugh softly, "Why thank you, you're quite bearable yourself." Then I frown, becoming serous, "I believe she left because every time she looked at me, she saw my father…and just because we were her children, that didn't mean that she loved us." My voice cracks on the last word. Bah! Stupid emotions are suddenly catching up to me, rushing through me like a tidal wave!

Katniss doesn't say anything, and for that i am grateful. Then I take her hand in mine, "We should go," I tug her to her feet. "We have a big day tomorrow, and we need all the preparation we can get."

She looks at her feet, "Thank you. I know…I know it's hard." Katniss swallows, and I know she doesn't just mean the moonlace, but she's also thanking me for opening up about my past as well. Even though I spoke the more words tonight, and that Katniss was quite as usual, I feel as if something has changed between us.

Trust? Friendship? Bonding?

Whatever it is, it speaks monumentally more than a thousand words. A thousand, quit, meaningful words only conveyed through our eyes and the silence between us.

**Well guys, I know this is just a filler chapter, but for those of you who are ****_Steam _****fans there was definitely some of that action going on, while if you're an ****_Percabeth _****of ****_Theif _****fan, Katniss and Percy are just bonding as brother and sister… It's your choice! ;P**

** STEAM! — 38**

**No, Friends only! — 28 (This includes the people who do are Percabeth and Theif supporters) **

**Annabeth Chase — 13**

**Foxface (I think someone commented (Another person said love triangle))? — 4**

**Your votes are greatly appreciated!**

**Comment if you love Macaroni!**

**— Jay**


	6. Part I: Chapter 6

**Hello my awesome and wonderful peeps! :D This chapter is strange, if I do say so myself.**

**Writing this has just blown my mind — I haven't updated in, like, FOUR MONTHS! I am soooo sorry! Hopefully this will make up for some of the wait...  
**

**Part I: Chapter Six**

**Her:**

_Her blood turns to ice… She knows, she feels. She knows that… _she… should… know… him…

_Wait. No._

_She _knows_ him._

_Somehow._

_His hair, his eyes, his face, stature, and smile… _

_In the back of the recesses of her mind, she knows him. How is that? She doesn't know that either. _

_Her frustration is great, and her eyes flash dangerously — like lightning._

_She's left in the dark about this mysterious man, a place she knows well. A place that _he_ had saved her from long ago, a place that she occasionally strays unknowingly back in to. _He_ had waited patiently for her; _he _had guided her out of the maze that locked her in her mind just so_ he_ could love her when she broke free. _

_She had broken free, with_ his_ help._

_She loves _him_. She loves _him_ so much. _He_ sings to her, combs _his_ hand through her hair when _he_ knows she is feeling down. She gets lost in _his_ beautiful eyes all the time, a raging storm and an unsolvable puzzle._

He_ alone can calm her down, when her panic attacks seize her with iron fists. All _he _has to do is hold her, and her nightmares flee, her panic slumbers. She is drawn to _him_ in so many ways, _his_ eyes, the orbs that reflect genuine love, the smile of _his_ that she loves, and the mussed hair that refuses lie flat. _

He_ loves her. She knows this to be true._

_But she knows him, as well, and that causes icy pangs of dread in her heart._

_In the split second she saw his face, something in her mind buzzed instantaneously. Was he from her past? Her great and terrible past? Was he before _him_? Was he before the games and trials that scarred her? Was he?_

_She does not know. All is void — a blank and empty landscape._

_She cannot remember anything, a dark cloud hovers like a fearsome guard. She throws herself at the mental barrier in her mind trying to shatter it. But it fails, as most things do._

_Then her mind conjures up the picture of him, he is running in earnest to the stage, his face is a contortion of feelings. Love? Anger? Defiance?_

_She does not feel joy or sadness or anger at seeing him. She feels the emotion of fear._

_She fears him. She fears what his presence may signify…what the true meaning of him is. She knows he is different, and that alone sets him miles apart from what others believe and hold as their standards. Still, she fears a monumental change. _

_But fear is not new to her, and she knows _he_ will never let anything happen to her, simply because _he_ loves her._

_She knows him._

_She does not know what he can do, why he is here. She knows him from some place, and she believes that if she can find a way around the mental barrier, she might find a piece of the answer._

_She knows she will never find the whole answer, she can't. The whole answer cannot be found; it is bound up with the spare key thrown out. Only one person has the master key._

_She knows him. She fears him._

_But maybe this is why she has been locked up, is she crazy? _

She does not know everything; she does not truly understand what is at play.

_She does not know the master plan._

She does not know this:

_She loves_ him.

_But she loved him._

**Ω∞Ω**

For a very long time, I think about the girl and her brother, I taste his name repeatedly on my tongue, "Grayson…" Even once I've fallen asleep, my dreams are about them, her icy, electric eyes stare into my soul.

The dreams become gory images that flash beneath my eyelids, I dream of Prim, terrified and bewildered, along with our serving girl who keeps screaming one name: _Grayson._

I bolt up screaming, wishing for a life I've never been able to have. I scream at my father to run before the mine explodes into a hundred deadly bits of soulless white. I scream at my mother, desperately pleading with her to stay and protect Adaya and I…

But screaming at a dream never works, and at the end of the day, my mother still abandoned us.

Abandoned me.

That, I cannot forgive. I feel the anger of ten thousand suns upon her. How could she leave us? How could she leave us when we needed her? Adaya died because of her!

I open my eyes, faces still seared into my vision. Dawn is roughly breaking through the windows. The Capitol has a haughty, sullen air. A headache is pounding waves through my head in sync with my heartbeat, and the insides of my cheeks have bloodied sores.

Slowly, I am able to drag my body out of the bed, and into the shower. I randomly punch in buttons and hop from one foot to the other as both hot and cold strands of water pummel at me. Then I'm deluged in heavy foam that smells like the sweet and tangy scent of pineapple that I have to scrape of with a bristled brush.

When I'm dried and moisturized with lotion, I find an outfit that has been left for me at the forefront of my closet. Rough black pants, a long sleeved burgundy tunic, and leather boots. I look in the mirror to a face that I haven't seen since the reaping ceremony. It's me. Just me. Without any fancy clothing or touchups, I could be going out to collect strawberries for Matilda or lazily fishing at a pond. This calms me, seeing that maybe, just maybe, the Capitol hasn't yet turned me into a terrible killing monster. At least not yet.

Soon, I head down to the dining room, hoping there'll be food. I am not disappointed. While the table holds nothing, a long wooden board to the side has at least twenty dishes. A young man, maybe four or five years older than me, stands next to the board looking dejected. I ask him if I can serve myself, which he nods an affirmative. I load my plate with eggs, bacon, fluffy cakes slathered in butter and syrup, strawberries and blueberries. As I gorge myself, I watch the sun rise over and above the Capitol. I fill a second plate of rolls and gorge on that while thinking of District 12.

I wonder what Prim thought of our opening, if she is filled with hope, or if she's dreading the fact we were probably pinned as a major target?

Haymitch and Katniss come in and bid me a good morning, they fill their plates as well, not bothering with the servant. Katniss wears the same outfit as me, but personalizes it with her trademark braid.

I'm pretty confident about the training. There will be three days in which all of the tributes practice together. On the last afternoon, we each get to preform in private in front of the gamemakers. I'm actually excited to meet the other tributes, a little nervous, but knowing my competition gets me one step closer to possibly winning.

Winning. It seems like such a far off prospect, yet I'm consumed with feeling I need to win. Have to win.

_Winning… winning…_ My mind tosses around the word, carelessly breaching the ever so slowly built walls around it. Suddenly, I remember Prim's words, _"I know you will win in your heart." _Or something along those lines.

Does she want me to win? Or does she want me to let Katniss win? I am troubled. A while ago, it seemed like such an easy choice, save Katniss and Peeta at the expense of my life.

But now? When I'm no longer in the heat of the moment? Can I really choose to die so that Katniss Everdeen survives?

I want to say no. I want to be selfish, just this once in my life. But I think of Primrose Everdeen, my moonlace, and I know that being selfish won't solve anything. It didn't work for my mother, and it won't work for me.

_Winning… winning… _

I look down at my half eaten plate of rolls begrudgingly, my appetite long gone.

Then I look at Haymitch, who speaks after finishing his current platter of stew. He reaches into his pocket and takes out a flask; he drinks, "So, let's get down to business. Training. First off, if you like, I'll coach you separately. Decide now."

"Why would you coach us separately?" Katniss asks.

"Say if you had a secret skill you might not want the other to know about," says Haymitch.

I have a lot of secret skills… A lot. And telling them to Haymitch is a definite no; he'd probably accuse me of drinking.

But then again, lying's easy for me, "I don't have any secret skills," I say, "and I already know what Katniss can do, and she I."

"You can coach us together," Katniss tells Haymitch. I nod my affirmative.

"All right, so give me some idea of what you can do," says Haymitch.

Something inside me stands dead silent for a moment, as I pretend to think, and suddenly it slips out, and I feel no shame, only hard determination. "Kill." I internally cringe at my blunt words, yet know they're true. Hastily I add, "small furry animals. They taste good." I wince; it sounds like I'm hiding something to my own ears.

Inside the safety of my head, I scream at myself. What in the world am I talking about? Killing _what_? Dare I say it, _who_?

"We're both archers," Katniss says as she stares at me dubiously. "I'm probably better that him, though," she says stoically.

_"__What?" _I gasp dramatically, trying to regain my former composure, then I add "But seriously, she really is a great archer."

"Yeah, yeah," Katniss says dismissingly, "I know you always shoot squirrels through the eye, every time."

"So do you," I point out.

"So?" Katniss challenges.

"So what? I'm just stating a fact!" I shoot back. What is she trying to prove? "You're a great shot! We both are."

"What are you doing?" Katniss asks me suspiciously.

"What are you doing," I retort, "Haymitch is here to help us, and if you're not going to take this seriously and tell him what you _can _do, I will. He needs to know what you're capable of, don't underrate yourself." I don't understand why I'm getting so worked up about this, but I am. Maybe it's because of what I was thinking about earlier; I can't stand to see Katniss try to purposefully talk herself down. To my ears, it almost sounds like she doesn't care if she wins at all.

And I need her to care about winning.

"What about you? I see you get into fistfights all the time at school, and not only that, but you _win_. Tell Haymitch that!" She snaps in frustration.

"Yeah," I snort, "And that's exactly why I came second to last in our school's wresting competition. And besides, what use is that? It's completely irrelevant! How many times have you seen someone wrestle someone to death?"

"There's always hand-to-hand combat!" Katniss says, her voice laced with anger as it picks up an octave with every word. "With a bow _or _a knife you'll be deadly, if I get jumped, I'm dead!"

I stare at her a second, how can she be this doubtful? I bet my life that she swore to Prim she'd try and win. "Katniss," I say, my voice sounding distant and calm to my own ears, "This isn't about you, or your death. This is about a flower, and selling yourself short is just a cowardly way to destroy them both, one way or another."

Does she get my analogy? It sounds far fetched to my own ears. Prim probably won't be able to get past Katniss if she dies, and with Katniss not even doing her best, she's taking the cowards way out. Better to go out fighting that a subdued lamb headed for slaughter.

Wordlessly Katniss stares at me, and I wonder how we went from getting along great to arguing over a petty point. She lifts her gaze and stares into my eyes, and I think something clicks. Suddenly she remembers that maybe I'm just a broken boy trying to save a family before it breaks like mine.

She stands up, with a curt nod she tells Haymitch, "I'm getting some fresh air for a minute, I need to clear my head."

Haymitch silently nods at her, and she sweeps out of the room.

I flit my gaze to Haymitch, "She has no idea. The effect she can have."

Haymitch burst into guffaws, "You aren't exactly a drop in the ocean either, Jackson. More like a tsunami," he muses to himself.

What does he mean? Is he insulting me? The way he says it makes me question, people help me? No! I'm the social outcast everywhere I go. While I was starving, no one helped me, no one cared that two orphans slowly dying of starvation. The only time I ever got good deals was when I haggled for them and showed my determination and stubborn will so as to not go under a completely fair price. No one pitied me!

After a minute or two of silence, during which I listened to Haymitch drink his wine, Katniss steps into the dinning room and creeps into the chair. She nods stiffly at me, and I sigh in relief — she's not completely angry with me. Then I notice the look in her eye, and it's not an apology or a rant. No, no, her eyes tell me one thing, _Okay._

Haymitch takes a long draught of his glass before saying, "Well, then. Well, well, well. Both of you, there's no guarantee they'll be bows and arrows in the arena, but during your private session with the Gamemakers, show them what you can do. Until then, stay clear of archery. Are you any good at trapping?" He inquires.

"Basic snares," Katniss mutters. I nod my assentation.

"That may be significant in terms of food," says Haymitch. "And both of you, never underestimate strength in the arena. Very often, physical power tilts the advantage to a player, and weapons skills show you're a force to be reckoned with. The plan's the same for both of you. You go to group training. Spend the time trying to learn something you don't know. Throw a spear. Swing a mace. Learn to tie a decent knot. Save showing what you're best at until your private sessions. Are we clear?" says Haymitch.

Katniss and I nod.

"One last thing. In public, I want you by each other's side every minute," says Haymitch. Katniss starts to complain while I am secretly glad, hoping we can mend our relationship. "Every minute! It's not open for discussion! You agreed to do as I said! You will be together, you will appear amiable to each other. Now get out. Meet Effie at the elevator at ten for training."

I walk back to my room, and after hearing Katniss slam her door I wince — I want her to trust me.

But then I think about how she's noticed I get into a lot of fights at school, and just maybe, she's kept up with me more that she realizes.

Maybe a little small part of her has a shred of compassion for an orphaned boy who would give his life for hers.

**Ω∞Ω**

_Breath in, breath out. Let the weapon guide you, imagine yourself hitting the target, and you will. _

Words recite themselves in my head, and my father's voice continues to drill me. I slowly open my eyes, and feel a drop of sweat slide down my neck. Twenty-three pairs of eyes are on me, staring straight at me, assessing me for weakness as I did a few nights ago.

I let no yell or scream, as fluid as water and in a blink of an eye I whip my arm back, and hurl a spear into the cyberhologram chest, where it dissolves into random particles. I swiftly grab my next spear, and throw it. And another, and another. I get lost in the rhythmic motion, and suddenly I can't feel the fiery eyes pinned on my back. I throw my next spear into a running cyberhologram's left leg, before sinking a spear piercing though it's side. I knock the next one through the skull, before leaping towards it, pulling out the spear, and slamming it into the cyberhologram behind me. They both burst into particles, and my battle continues.

With a leap, I vault forward, grab another spear in my left hand and start twirling in a very, very, manly way. I side step one cyberhologram and stab the other straight through the skull, with a _suckish _sound my right hand spear is torn from my grasp. I kick a cyberhologram in the stomach and then slam my hand around it's throat, with a cry I swiftly break it's neck. Determined not to loose my last spear, I cease throwing and instead go basically melee. I step forward and knock my spear into a cyberhologram's chest, trying to keep my momentum I spin around and slam the but of my spear through it's eye. I flinch as it lets out a gruesome scream and realize that, that might have not been the wisest thing to do.

Then the simulation ends, and with my light panting, and sweat dripping from my chin, suddenly the heat of unknown gazes suddenly overloads my senses.

The number pinned to my back suddenly shifts uncomfortably, and I lift my eyes, staring into a pair of cool blue eyes. The blond boy holds my gaze for a second, and approval flashes in his eyes even though he's undoubtedly two times bigger than me. In fact, 90% of the tributes around me are bigger than me, and some could probably use me as a stepstool if they wanted.

Katniss has an unreadable expression on her face, and I can't tell if she's trying to pity me, or if she's angry that I pretty must did the exact opposite of Haymitch's orders. Who knew throwing a spear would be so easy?

Well, I did stay away from archery, I guess.

Most of the other tributes stare at me, while they were green with envy at our stunning entrance last night, now all I can see is contempt. And most of the Career Tributes, a nickname given to the districts whose tributes train for the Hunger Games, look like they're ready to devour me.

I start walking towards Katniss, and grabbing her hand I pull her to the knot tying section, positive my distraction worked.

Positive.

"Suppose we tie some knots," I say after looking around at other stations, Careers start dispersing and playing with big knives, other, poorer Districts awkwardly hold weapons, shaky with their first lesson ever. But all of them continue to steal glances at me, which I try my best and return.

With Katniss hand still curled tightly in mine, we reach the knot tying section where the trainer seems pleased to have students. When he realizes we both know something about snares, he shows us a simple but excellent trap that leaves a human competitor dangling by one foot from a tree. Once I master it, finding it a deft and challenging puzzle, I work on several others before I move over to Katniss to help her on one.

Then she suddenly speaks to me, "Why did you put on that big show? Now all of them are either targeting you, or trying to alliance with you. I didn't even know you could throw a spear."

I feel a bitter laugh rising up in my throat, "No, I have never thrown a spear before today. I guess the same aiming principles apply, but it came pretty naturally." Something about my statement seems off. _I have never thrown a spear before today…_ "And first impressions always last."

"Yeah," I hear Katniss mutter, "Now they all want to kill you." Then she becomes frustrated with her knot that has once again slipped through, "How did you do this so quickly?"

"Practice," I muse, "It's like tying on armor… or saddling up a horse, yeah."

"And when," she says carefully, "have you done any of those things?"

"I'm not sure," I admit. "I'm not sure about a lot of things."

"That's not a real answer, neither was the whole first impression thing." She holds my gaze steadily, and this time I break it off, hanging my head low.

"Fear is a useful tool, and even though I might not have stricken fear into their hearts, I planted a seed." As I talk, I take Katniss's rope in my hand, and start working on the knot. "You think you're so high and mighty, and then suddenly you see a confident Twelve walk in, the district you've always thought was lower than dirt, and shoot a spear with deadly accuracy and speed…" I pause, thinking for a moment, the knot momentarily forgotten.

"Understand, when people don't conform to the usual stereotypes… _that_ means that they're dangerous. They can't be controlled. And you should fear them."

"They don't belong to just _one_, so you can't do anything about it." Katniss realizes. "How do you know all this?"

I finish Katniss's knot, . ?docid=46488931g the left rope through the hole, and say, "Practice." For a moment I let her stare dynamically at the noose I've created, before dragging her to the camouflage section. I can tell she's not ready to drop the subject, but for now she keeps quit, which I appreciate. I'm not exactly sure of the answers myself.

I have fun at the camouflage section, I don't want to brag, but when I paint my arm to fit in a forest, it looks pretty darn good. The trainer is full of enthusiasm at my work.

Then a random thought pops into my head, "Peeta designs the cakes."

"The cakes?" She asks.

"Yes, the elaborately designed cakes that Prim and Adaya used to stare at," I say mindlessly, mixing six different types of red dye.

She stares at my arm critically, before, "It's lovely. If only you could frost someone to death."

"Don't be so superior. You never know what you'll find in an arena. Say it's actually a giant cake —," I begin.

"Say we move on," Katniss cuts in, and I snicker. She smiles, a small one that I haven't seen in a long time.

Something about it makes the blood rush to my cheeks.

An annoying emotion that's both familiar but somehow something I've never felt before is running though me, and I can't tell if it's a good thing, or a mistake that will undoubtedly cost me my life.

* * *

**So, Poll here...**

**C'mon Percabeth supporters! You have to catch up! :**

**STEAM! — 51 _((:O) that many people like my story?!)_**

**No, Friends only! — 24 (This includes the people who do are Percabeth and Theif supporters) **

**Annabeth Chase — 20**

**Foxface (I think someone commented (Another person said love triangle))? — 4**

** Bye Knights!**

**— Jay Knight**

**(**_Die bonus habe_** y Buenos nochas _mon ami...)_**

**(These are phrases of other languages I know, _comment on how to say "hello" in another language_)  
**

**(And I swear, the Hunger Games will start in two more chapters...)**


End file.
